Destiny's Peccadillo
by Chloe Choy
Summary: AU, Non-magic. HPDM. Behind the veils of luxury and Hogwarts' perfection, sprouts a tale of lies and secrets, of scandals and sex. And when you dip into its callous depths, things might just get a little dirty. Featuring dominant/powerful Harry. yum!
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: No, I do not own any characters that belong to J.K.Rowling. _

_Warning: Male/Male relationship. Completely AU, Non-Magic. Not a one-shot._

A/N: Sorry for any missed typos! Hope you enjoy :D

…

It was an early April morning and the sun was glistening through loosely hung curtains of the third-floor bedroom. The warm breeze sneaked playfully from the open window, ruffling the leaves of the blossoming plants that dwelled peacefully on the window sill. A faint scent of spring lingered in the room, combined with a pleasant odor of boyish cologne and freshly washed clothes.

Draco brushed a strand of hair away from his pale face and looked in the mirror once more. A white blouse, a silk tie, a pair of dark grey trousers – all of those incredibly expensive and sophisticated. Draco shot a look of longing on the clothes lying on his bed – a pair of dark blue jeans and a grey hoody – and then back to his reflection in the mirror. A classy, beautiful man was gazing right back, a look of wonder and disdain coloring his face. Porcelain skin, blond locks, deep grey eyes, high cheekbones that led down to a pointy chin…

So disgustingly familiar.

"Draco! Honey, hurry up!" A voice rang from downstairs and he heard footsteps along the second floor corridor. He spun around, scanning the room for his belongings.

In a matter of seconds, he was tumbling down the stairs towards the front door and onto the lawn of their manor, scarf clumsily wrapped several times around his neck and school bag tilted to one side, out of breath. Narcissa Malfoy, in a grey pencil skirt and a cream blouse, made a point to smile and straighten his collar delicately, as Lucius scoffed at them from the front seat.

"Get in already," he demanded, ushering Draco to seat himself beside his father. Leaning out of the window, he planted a small kiss on Narcissa's powdered cheek, as she swished past towards her elegant black car. Draco slumped onto the passenger seat and earned a disapproving glance from his father. The car engine rumbled furiously through the early morning mist and sped gracefully onto the main road.

It took five minutes for the same silver Mercedes to pull up near Hogwarts Academy, coming to a halt beside the glorious golden fountain round-about. A dozen of posh cars were stacked orderly in the parking lot, spotless windows flashing with morning sunbeams. The Hogwarts building towered upon the square, giant and ancient and yet proud and beautiful at the same time.

Lucius leaned back and observed the scenery; Draco held his breath, not daring to move, waiting. Finally the man straightened himself in his seat. "I expect the best from you, Draco, and you know it. Your previous report was a disappointment to me and your mother." His sharp, icy eyes glided along the greenery of the Hogwarts Park and finally landed on Draco's identical grey ones. "But it will not happen again. Get to class."

Draco scurried off his seat and out of the car, offering his father an uncertain smile. The car awoke with a loud start and glided along the road before fleeing out of the school gates. He stood there, watching as the parking lot filed with cars and fancily dressed women fussed about their children in a motherly fashion. Well. Yet another ruined morning.

_Great. _

"Why, what a lovely morning," Pansy Parkinson appeared next to him, placing her hand onto his lower back tenderly. Draco shrugged with one shoulder and nodded silently. "Your dad still the same?" She asked, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. They slowly headed for the large set of steps that led to the entrance.

"Some things never change." Draco sighed with a roll of his eyes. "Like him lecturing me endlessly."

Two girls ran past, quickly kissing Draco on both cheeks before scuttling down the steps hurriedly.

"Or like him never being satisfied with anything."

Three boys walked by and patted the blond on his back amicably, joking about something Draco didn't quite hear. A group of seniors called Draco's name and waved from the top of the stairs, to which Draco waved back, grinning, and continued walking up. A couple of girls eyed him from their seats on the marble stairs, to which Draco smiled friendlily. He readjusted his bag over his shoulder and huffed irritably. "_Be a man, Draco," _he mimicked his father's voice. "Well thanks! Now I'm not even manly enough!"

Pansy traced her fingers along the blonde's upper arm soothingly. "It's okay. Just ignore him."

"Kind of hard to do when he's insulting you twenty-four seven." He sighed frustratingly. Pansy opened her locker and threw her handbag into it gracelessly, earning a couple of surprised glances from the crowd behind. Some of her belongings scattered across the bottom of the locker, to which she only rolled her eyes. Draco imitated her, slamming a few folders on the shelf.

A tall brunet with slightly Southern features and a sporty complexion appeared in front of the pair with a loud laugh echoing through the corridor. A few juniors looked up fearfully. He placed a hand on Pansy's butt and whispered huskily in her ear, "Fancy a shag before first class?"

"Oh, sod off," Pansy muttered, shoving him away half-heartedly.

"Sorry, I forgot I'm not _Mystery Man_." He snickered gleefully. "Should I call him instead?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Pansy mumbled even quieter, a blush spreading over her face.

If possible, the brunet looked even more amused. "Mystery Man! Where might he be? Drooling in the library? Begging for coins on the pavement?" He scratched his front thoughtfully. "I wonder. Maybe he's gone off shagging our new secretary."

"Blaise, man, seriously. Drop it." Draco rolled his eyes.

Blaise swallowed his bitter remark and, instead, offered Pansy a mocking grimace. He leaned against the locker set, next to Draco and tapped his fingers against the cold metal. "So. What you doing this weekend, Drake? Wanna go to the mountains again?"

Draco stacked his books into his bag and shook his head. "Can't. Have to study this weekend."

"Way too bad! What about next weekend?"

The blond shrugged. "Dunno yet."

"Well, good for you, cause I'm planning a party at my mountain cottage."

Draco grinned. "Are we guests then?"

The brunet looked surprised for a moment. "Naturally!"

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Why thanks, Zabini. I thought I'd never see the day when I'd be _so_ honored."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he smirked. "I'm gonna get you piss-drunk and show you around my bath a little. Unless Boy Wonder gets his dirty hands on you before me." He heaved against Pansy with his hips, pushing her into the lockers sideways, and made his grand exit.

"Do you think he's serious about this?" Pansy asked once he had rounded the corner, and a couple of juniors flew out of his way frightfully.

"About shagging you? Or about getting you drunk?" Draco beamed down at his friend.

Pansy blushed. "Well, both."

"You never know with Blaise," Draco gave out a small laugh. "Otherwise, how's it going with Potter?"

"How's itgoing? You mean the serious love affair we're experiencing? The deep emotions we share through our perpetually long conversations? Or the fact that he doesn't even say _hi _to me, or even _bother_ asking how my day was at school?" Pansy sounded indignant. "You know, I wrote to him on MSN last night-"

"He was on MSN? Wow. First time since stone age."

"Yeah, exactly. So the one time he _is _online, I decide to write to him. So I'm like: "Hey, how's it going?" right? And he doesn't even reply!" Pansy rounded her eyes comically, and made an exasperated motion with her hands.

"Asshole." Draco shook his head. "Selfish, obnoxious asshole. He's so full of himself, I'm actually surprised his brains fit in. It's all he's got. Ego and brains for A-star results. No place for a heart."

Pansy sighed, as they took their seats in the second row of their Math class, along with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who seated themselves next to Draco. "Hey guys," Pansy sighed again, waving at the two girls.

"Hey, Panse. You okay?" Parvati asked, pulling her bag off of her shoulder.

"You look kinda green." Lavender mentioned, looking at her in concern. She fiddled with the tips of Draco's blond hair absent-mindedly.

"I'm fine. Just tired," Pansy smiled. She leaned into Draco and snuggled against his shoulder. Soon, the class filled with loud, animated chatter. Seamus Finnegan and Theodore Nott sat on Draco's desk, as Dean came from Pansy's side and leaned against her chair. Ron Weasley stormed into the classroom, slamming his books in front of Draco and starting to shout out curses randomly, as Hermione Granger flowed languidly to the front desk and brought a chair closer to the same table. The entire room seemed to revolve around one person.

Draco Malfoy.

"Do you think he ever had a girlfriend?" Draco heard Pansy asking and he tilted back in his chair to listen.

"Dunno," Parvati whispered. "I don't even know what his parents do."

"I don't know anything. Actually, _no one _knows anything about that guy." Lavender added fiercely. "It should be illegal to be so mysterious."

"But, like," Pansy continued, pursing her lips thoughtfully, "surely someone's heard if he's got a girlfriend. I mean, he boards with other guys. Don't they ever talk among themselves?"

Parvati shrugged and glanced questioningly at Lavender. The latter turned her gaze to the doorway the exact moment a pale boy walked in, carrying numerous folders and books in his hands. Pansy snuggled deeper against Draco's shoulder as he followed the boy with an inquisitive stare. It was Harry Potter. It was obvious thatpeople were curious of him. Especially when your friend is head over heels about him and you can't possibly begin to understand _why. _

Potter looked up from his seat in the back row and Draco was stunned by a pair of brilliant green eyes that stared straight into his own. He held his challenging stare for a couple of breathtaking moments, before tearing his eyes away. Pansy lifted her head too, as if on cue, and her cheeks reddened scandalously, as her gaze met the boy's. She gave him a small wave and he returned in tentatively with a nod of his head. A thick black fringe covered his forehead and eyes and it was hard to tell what he was thinking that very moment.

"He just nodded at me." Pansy seemed satisfied with his reaction and turned timidly towards Draco.

"Oh, hurrah, Panse. He finally knows you exist," Draco muttered angrily. Pansy's gaze turned quizzical. "Don't know _why _you like him. Just _can't _understand."

"It'd be scary if you did," Pansy beamed.

Professor McGonagall walked in, her hair typically pulled back in a tight bun and her clothes perfectly ironed. All students rushed towards their seats and stood beside them, watching as the woman set a heavy looking folder atop a spotless wooden desk. She nodded and, in complete silence, everyone sat back. Draco's chair scraped the floor thunderously and he winced under McGonagall's strict stare.

"Our objective is to prepare you for A-levels. For some, still AS. And get you your desired A's." McGonagall announced, pacing around the blackboard. "If you do not wish to pass your exams with brilliant results and honor yourself and the school by getting into a prestigious University, then I suggest you reconsider your plans. Hogwarts students traditionally stand on the highest ranks, achieve excellent results and are known all over the country, if not the _world." _

Draco rolled his eyes at Pansy, who raised her eyebrows in response.

"What's her problem?" Parvati whispered in Draco's direction and he lifted his shoulders, puzzled. The woman's voice rang about the class and her heels clacked against the shining, squeaky clean wooden floor, as she paced back and forth.

"Wonder what's up herarse," Lavender added and Draco shrugged again. Personally, he had had enough lectures for the day. "As if she doubts our intelligence," she continued. "We've all gotten our GCSE's last year. Apart from Rupert, of course, but look where his single C got him."

_Expelled, _Draco thought bitterly. That's what happens to you if you do something wrong at Hogwarts. No second chance. Logical, one might say, because it's not just any school. It's _the _school, it's Hogwarts Academy. One of the most prestigious schools in Europe whose alumni are prominent figures all over the world. People would do almost anything to move up the enormous waiting list and get into the school. Because here, at Hogwarts, everything was right. People weren't ordinary looking – but gorgeous; they weren't well-off – but rich; they weren't good – but excellent.

"Poor bloke," Draco nodded back. "Where's he now?"

"France, in an International School. He's taking French Baccalaureate." Parvati said knowingly.

Draco eyed her mirthfully. "Why, would you believe it? Parvati and Rupert. Rupert and Parvati-"

"Oh, pah-lease," she flicked her black hair back.

"Sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!" Lavender cheered.

"Come on. You'd look good together." Draco smiled gently, "Too bad he's gone to France. Maybe you could visit him in Paris. I've heard they have this exchange program-"

"Mr. Malfoy." The class suddenly fell silent. Draco's words died out as he turned to face the board.

"Yes, Professor?" He asked innocently. He could almost feel everyone else staring at him worriedly.

"Would you be kind enough to repeat what I've just said?" Her furious eyes never left his.

He blinked. "I… I wasn't listening, Professor."

"I'm aware of this. As well as that, I'm aware of your falling grades. And I believe I've just found an explanation." Her eyes flickered between Pansy, Lavender and Parvati disdainfully. "You'd be better off sitting somewhere else, Mr. Malfoy."

"Pardon?" Draco blurted out before actually thinking.

"I want you to move to sit somewhere else. Next to Mr. Potter perhaps." She gestured to the back row. Potter stopped writing in his notebook and looked up. Then he met Draco's gaze and lifted an eyebrow daringly. Draco resisted the attractive temptation to throw a chair at him.

"I don't want to sit next to Mr. Potter, Professor."

There was a moment of silence, as McGonagall straightened her back visibly. Pansy stared at Draco incredulously and a whisper spiraled amongst the students in the class. "Well, I believe it's not your decision. Mr. Potter has excellent achievements in Mathematics, whereas your grades aren't as good as they used to be. Now, you will remove that tone with me and seat yourself where I _tell _you to? Understood, _Mr. Malfoy_?"

Draco got up hesitantly, scraping his chair against the parquet purposely. "Understood. Professor."

McGonagall's gaze stayed on him for a couple of calculating moments and flickered back to her documents, which she held in hand.

The conversation was obviously over. Draco collected his things from his desk. Everyone in the class watched him disbelievingly, as if waiting for an objection or rebelliousness. There wasn't anything he could have done without threatening his reputation amongst the teachers. One or the other. He chose to live. Not be slaughtered by McGonagall out of all.

"Hello Potter," Draco muttered as he sat next to the boy. A pleasant odor of freshness surrounded him instantly.

Apple, definitely. Hm. Strange. Maybe Potter was human, after all. Here goes the revelation that he isn't as alien as he looks.

"Hey," Harry replied darkly, looking back into his notebook. He moved his folders away from Draco's side of the table and slumped back in his chair, notebook and pencil in hand.

Draco wasn't surprised when the lesson finished and the only words communicated between the two were: "hello" and "bye". He itched to say something all throughout the double period. Something cocky, something that would surely make the raven-haired boy scream or throw porcelain in a scandalous fit. But no such luck. Or maybe, no such trouble.

If "hi" and "bye" were the only things Potter was capable of saying – it was fine by Draco. The good news were that he was never going to sit with the freak again.

…

"She wants me to become a lawyer! A lawyer for Christ's Sake! She knows I _can't_ become a good lawyer!" Pansy exclaimed the next day, as she and Draco paced along the roundabout during lunch break. She had phoned her parents earlier in the day and now had an air of a beast that rampaged hopelessly in a stuffy cellar. Draco reached affectionately for her hand.

"You had to make a choice between acting and law," Draco said quietly. "You did the right thing. Acting's not serious enough for you, Panse, and your parents know it. You're smart, intelligent, organized – perfectly suitable to study law. Don't give up _now. _Now that you're heading for a thriving career. Now that you're planning to become something big and successful."

Pansy gave out a tearful chuckle. "You talk like my parents."

Draco shook his head, ignoring the bitter comment. "You can become a good lawyer. You _will_, but only if you want it yourself."

"My parents want it."

"Of course your parents want it. My parents want me to become a diplomat. I wanted to go into art, become an artist, designer…" Draco laughed openly. "To think only how pathetic I would have become."

Pansy smiled through her sobs. "So you chose to become a diplomat?"

"Of course I did. My parents approve. It's a serious job, not like art. Art won't get me anywhere."

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. Pansy wiped her tears with the sleeve of her blouse quietly and Draco stared at the pavement, thinking over his own words. How many times had he thought of quitting law and becoming an artist? How many fights had he had with his parents about his future career and how many times had they called him pathetic and careless about his choice of profession? He still wanted to become an artist. He sure had the potential. But becoming an artist while having the unique chance of studying in the most prestigious school of the country, of having a wealthy family who would financially support an excellent degree in the best University, who pray on you to become something _serious. _Well, it's obvious what choice to make. To become a diplomat. Full stop. End. No discussion.

"Thanks, Draco," Pansy said, as they came closer to the cafeteria. She hugged him tightly. "I don't know what I would have done without you. You make sense. I _so _don't sometimes."

Before he had the chance to disagree, he was swiftly pulled towards the cafeteria. A group of lower-sixth students beckoned him from the far-end corner of the room and Pansy, holding onto his hand, led him towards them. Draco grinned half-heartedly at everyone and took a seat near Ron Weasley, a freckled red-head boy. Lavender and Parvati beamed back and Ginny, Ron's smaller sister, waved enthusiastically. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, sipping fizzy drinks and passing around packets of chips. Draco took a gulp of his Cola and looked around.

"Draco, are you going to the Spring Ball?" Seamus suddenly asked.

"Yep. Are-"

Lavender sat up excitedly. "You are?"

"Who with?" Dean asked curiously.

Everyone stared up at the blond inquiringly, abandoning their conversations. Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't know. Maybe Madam Houch is still free for the night," he joked.

"Ah, but all the good girls are taken," Ginny smiled, ruffling Seamus' hair gleefully. He looked up and grinned back.

Lavender rolled her eyes, "Not _all _of them. There's still Bullstrode." There was a chorus of laughter.

"Or me," Pansy batted her eyelashes and everyone laughed again. "Or Hermione." She hooked arms with the girl and made a grimace. "But I guess we're just not as good as Bullstrode, are we, sweetie?"

Draco giggled and nudged Ron in the ribs painfully. Ron leaned forward, reddening. "Speaking of which," Ron cleared his throat and looked straight at Hermione. "I'm free too."

"So feel free to say yes to him," Draco mouthed and the entire circle of lower sixth gave out a loud cheer. Everyone in the cafeteria turned their heads to watch.

Hermione was suppressing a wide grin."Yes to what?"

Ron began smiling too. "To go to the ball with me, of course." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Was that a yes?"

"We-ell…" She grinned back. "I suppose I could say yes…" For a moment no one spoke, as if waiting for something great to occur, before laughter broke out.

They sat in the cafeteria, chatting and sharing the fresh news and gossiping passionately about everything that has happened during the week. When everyone settled back into their seats, calming down from the romantic encounter between Hermione and Ron, Lavender proceeded to her favorite pastime: research of new gossip. She shrugged her blazer off of her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest gravely. "Now back to business." She announced loudly. "I wonder who Potter's going with. Do you think he'll bring his imaginary girlfriend?"

Pansy and Draco exchanged a mirthful glance.

"Maybe the librarian." Dean joked. "He's gotten to know her better than anyone here, since he practically _lives _in the library."

"Or maybe me," Pansy whispered quietly to Draco. "If he's going at all, that is."

"We'll make him go. With _you._ Or else I'm gonna shove his locker up his arse." Pansy's lips quirked up. "Sideways," Draco added and Pansy broke into a fit of girly giggles.

"Do you think he might ask Cho?" Dean asked, resting his head against his palm.

Theodore Nott snorted and everyone turned in his direction. "You really think he still likes Chang? After all her drama and vein-cutting in the girl's dormitory? Although I must say he was pretty heartless breaking up with her after she lost her – well –"

"Virginity," Parvati added helpfully, to which the brunet nodded.

"Exactly. With him. And his excuse was probably that she wasn't experienced enough for him in bed. Poor girl," he said darkly, as the rest of the group agreed silently. The moment Lavender opened her mouth to pursue her investigation regarding the partnership at Spring Ball, the bell rang piercingly above their heads. The cafeteria quieted down, as everyone moved towards the exit, rushing to their lockers. Draco glanced at his watch quickly and cursed – his prefect duty at Junior Section had already started.

"Gotta go," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'll see you guys at Math."

He rushed to the Junior Hallway, skipping past smaller students and terrified eleven-year olds. Juniors were pupils from year seven to nine, then went middle school, from year ten to eleven and then the seniors – including Upper and Lower Sixth form, thus year twelve and thirteens. The Junior Section occupied the entire fourth floor of the building, and a locker hallway that consisted of a chaotic mass of noisy and nosy kids, all self-important in their size-S blazers, skirts and ties. Draco, one of the four prefects of the school, was responsible for the Junior Section twice a week, since he was the youngest of all prefects. Surveying them wasn't as easy as it seemed, and certainly not a pleasant task. So, by the time he ended his duty and was walking down to Mathematics on second floor, he was positively murderous.

He knocked on the door and entered. A silent cluster of ten pairs of petrified eyes looked up from their papers. Professor McGonagall, seated behind her enormous wooden table lifted her milky eyes to stare accusingly. Draco cleared his throat and prepared to apologize, "I'm sorry – I had prefect d-"

"Seat yourself down, Mr. Malfoy. No time for apologies. You have a test to write," she instructed. Draco looked around and headed for the place next to Pansy, placing his bag soundlessly on the desk. McGonagall made an irritated sound with her tongue. "Sit next to Mr. Potter. Was I not clear last lesson?"

Draco stuttered. "I thought it was for one lesson."

She lifted her thinly plucked eyebrows. "And you thought one time would make a difference?"

"It did." He could hear his heart beating loudly inside his chest. "I'm determined to make a bigger effort."

"I'm glad you are. Now would you seat yourself where I tell you? You have a test to write," she repeated, sounding annoyed. Then returned to her work.

Draco collected his bag from his desk, catching Pansy's sympathetic gaze and slammed it against the floor next to Potter's desk. The latter fixed him with a puzzled glance and looked down at his test. "Stupid cow," Draco muttered, staring angrily at McGonagall, as if willing her to evaporate into the blue. She didn't.

Well, news flash.

Not wasting any more time, the blond leaned forward and started working on his test. Approximately forty minutes passed in complete silence, only the sound of turning pages and the constant scratch of pencils audible. Hermione was leaning back in her chair, reading a book quietly, probably finished. Potter was staring into the open window, finished no doubt; probably awaiting another A-star. Draco looked over his own test. Everything done, except for one exercise. Ironically, the one with the most marks available. He tried cursing at it, squinting, even tapping his pencil forcefully into the paper – but to no avail. Fruitless.

He was about to close the paper and give it in, when he felt Potter shifting closer to him. Freaked, Draco turned to face the raven-haired. His green eyes were scanning the last page of the test – the one which was full of notes and false answers, the question he could not have done to save his life. Potter lifted his mocking stare to level the blonde's and stared. "It's wrong, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Draco hissed back, annoyed.

"Well, it's not that hard."

Draco snorted knowingly. _Not for you, no._ "Not really." He replied tensely. Potter shrugged and turned back to his professionally performed activity: smiling mysteriously and watching everything as if it were dirty trash, sprawled beside his feet. _Obnoxious little bastard, _Draco thought irritably. The damn guy knew the answer, knew how to do it and yet couldn't help without being begged. Well, two could play this game. Maybe Potter would get the satisfaction of helping out the leader of their class, and Draco would get a better grade. Then _maybe _McGonagall could move him back to where he sat.

_Yeah, right._ As if he needed to be tutored by Potter out of all. Let the guy be even more obnoxious – he'll eat everyone alive with his ego. He could do without Potter's help.

Draco sighed and closed his test. He caught Potter's eye and raised his brows, deliberately, daringly – in the same manner the raven-haired always did it. He returned it with a mirthful smile, as if Draco had bird waste on his head, but he would never _ever _say it aloud – only snicker gleefully in his face. _Laugh as much as you want, _Draco thought angrily. He wanted out of here, and fast, back to where he always sat. But _no. _McGonagall would never let him do that.

_Unless I start talking even more in her classes. _A triumphal smile spread itself across his features. Of _course! _If he made Potter talk and they would distract her lectures, then maybe she would understand that she made the wrong decision about placing him here. And move him back to his desk. Ha! How easy!

With a wide smile, Draco turned to Potter. He was writing something in his notebook again, in an incomprehensible curly handwriting. "So, Potter. Found anything interesting in the test?"

He lifted his head and stared confusedly for a couple of moments. "No."

"Me neither. Couldn't do the last exercise, though." He sighed and watched as Harry eyed him skeptically and returned to his manuscript. Did this guy ever talk?

"Did you find it hard?"

"No," he said it, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

Draco nodded sternly. "Of course not. You probably didn't even study, did you?"

"No," Potter repeated anxiously.

"Of course not. And you probably didn't even open the book to review the theme." Draco supposed, more to himself than to the boy.

"No." He looked alarmed now. Probably wondering why the hell Draco _Malfoy _was talking to him.

"Do you know anything apart from the word 'no'?" Draco asked irritably.

Potter seemed a little affronted. "Yes," he said impatiently.

With that, Potter tore his gaze away and returned to his curvy writing. Draco stared at him for a long time. He was very good-looking, no doubt. The spotless skin. The curly, messy black hair. The fringe that fell over his eyes – the eyes themselves: a beautiful color of dark forest green, outlined by a set of dense raven lashes and heavy brows. A straight nose. Pink lips. A tight masculine chin, and in addition to that a perfect athletic structure. Damn thus guy. He hated him. To be as obnoxious, mean, heartless and to have such looks must be a sin. That explains Pansy's strange attraction. A dangerous, mysterious and alarmingly attractive young man fresh from a typical romance novel right here at Hogwarts.

Draco scoffed to himself. Potter lifted his head again and stared. "What?"

"What what?" Draco asked rather aggressively.

The same mocking smile spread across his dark face. "I thought you said something."

"Yeah, actually," Draco placed his elbow onto the desk and laid his head against his hand. "Who're you going to the ball with?"

If it was possible, Potter's eyes turned even more scornful and laughing. "What the _fuck _is wrong with you, Malfoy?"

Anger filled Draco's chest. "What the fuck is wrong with _you_? Do you ever talk?"

"Didn't we just talk?"

Mirth never left those damn green eyes, did it?

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. Everyone knew those eyes meant trouble. "Oh, so that's called conversation wherever the fuck you come from?" Woo. It felt good to let some anger out.

Potter gave out a silent laugh and shook his head. "This isn't conversation you're doing either. If you're trying to get your place next to Parkinson – go and ask McGonagall. Ask. Beg. Bribe. But you're wasting both your and my time by makingyour so-called conversation"

Draco opened his mouth to reply with a cocky retort, but nothing came to mind. _Out-smarted. _Unpleasant surprise. The guy just figured out his ploy. He hadn't been outwitted by anyone at Hogwarts. He was a prefect, and people were petrified of prefects when they were angry. No discussion and arrogance – then no trouble. This sort of attitude would usually make Draco even angrier. No one went that far with him at school. To be hated by Draco Malfoy, especially in Lower Sixth, meant being an outcast. To be admired by the blond meant being popular. It was an easy rule around here. Either Potter hadn't learnt over all those years at Hogwarts or he simply didn't care.

With no trace of smugness, Potter turned back to his notes. The blond gave out a bitter laugh. He didn't want to retort anymore, he was quite past that infantile stage. He could deal with being outsmarted. Take that as a little defeat of his own.

The rest of the lesson passed in absolute stillness. Potter kept scribbling down notes and Draco read his book. _Stefan Zweig. _Engrossed in his reading, he didn't hear the bell ring. Everyone scrambled to their feet, glad that the double period was over. An audible sigh of relief passed amongst his classmates. He closed his book and stacked his folders into his bag accurately. Looking up, he caught Potter watching him. He wore the same slightly superior look, but the mocking green eyes were directed into Draco's grey ones.

"The final answer was X plus Y," he said cockily. "You picked the wrong formula to solve it."

Draco held his stare confidently. Nothing happened for a while. Draco took a deep breath. "The relief is almost too much to bear," he said, smiling.

Potter snorted and walked off, grinning.

…

The weekend flew by swiftly. After a loud night at Pansy's on Friday, Draco spent the entire Saturday studying Economics and History. Sunday was spent lazing out with a pencil and an album on the windowsill of his third floor bedroom. Draco locked the door and watched as the storm bellowed its last traces of winter. Rain poured heavily all throughout the day and only closer to dinnertime, did it cease roaring against the windows of his bedroom. He opened the windowpane, climbed out onto the slippery roof and lit a cigarette. Taking out his phone, he dialed the all-too familiar phone-number.

She picked up almost instantly, "Hey, Draco."

"Hey. What's up?"

Pansy sighed and a distant sound ruffled paper was heard. "Ah, nothing much. Trying to get all my homework done. You?"

"Same." He took a generous amount of smoke in and blew it out evenly. "Just really tired."

"Are you smoking again?"

Draco laughed out in a cough. "It's okay, Panse. My first today."

"You should be on Mr. Snape's suicidal list," he heard her bright laughter. Then she sighed again and her tone switched. "I _hate _him…"

Draco frowned. "Who?"

"Potter. He's online and not responding. I wish I knew what he's doing right now. What could keep him away from his computer for so long?"

"Porn?" Draco chuckled and drew in a shaky breath, his cigarette in his mouth.

Pansy chuckled. Then there was silence and she wailed miserably. "Why would he need porn when he has me online?" Draco shrugged into the darkness of the evening. "I wish he could just… I don't know. Like me. At least a bit."

Draco sighed tiredly. "It's possible."

"But he doesn't like me." He could imagine her rolling on her bed wretchedly. "Do you think he could like me a little bit? Just a tiny bit?"

Annoyed, Draco sighed again. Here goes the same sort of consolation as _every _single day. "He might. He just doesn't know you."

"Well, he doesn't seem to _want_ to. There's no way he'll ever ask me out to the ball."

"There _is_. Panse… Just… I don't know. Don't expect him to fall in love with you when you don't even talk to each other."

She groaned despondently. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he's just too much of an arse to like anyone but himself. Bastard. Heartless bastard. I _hate _him. I- oh my _God_!"

"What?"

"He replied!" He heard a crash – supposedly another laptop of hers broken – and she squeaked again, "He replied! He says hi!"

Draco threw his cigarette away. He felt like punching someone. Girls were so annoying with their obsessions.

"I'm fine, thanks," she dictated slowly, typing. "What else should I write? Draco! What should I write?"

"Ask him how his weekend was." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Right. How – how was your weekend?" She muttered, typing. "God, we're actually talking!"

"I thought you hated him," Draco mumbled.

Pansy ignored the comment. "He says it was great and asks me how mine went."

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to it, then." Draco snorted.

"Okay. Well-" Pansy started typing something.

"Yeah, well. I'll see you at school tomorrow." There was no reply. "Bye?"

"Yeah. Bye!" She repeated, distracted. The phone snapped shut.

Draco sat on the roof, staring at his cell phone. Instead of calming him down, the call got him even more agitated. He clambered back into his room and washed his hands thoroughly, to rinse away the strong smell of smoke. He changed his clothing and quickly descended the stairs to arrive on time for dinner. His father and mother were already seated at the large oval table that stretched to the other side of the hall, waiting. He apologized quietly.

"Would you like to say grace, Draco," Lucius said.

Draco nodded, "For what we're about to receive, maybe we may-" he shook his head. "Sorry. May we be thankful. Amen."

Lucius eyed him suspiciously and began his meal, all in silence. Narcissa cleared her throat. "So, Draco. How's school going?"

Draco glanced at his father quickly, "Good. A lot of work to do, though. Mr. Bins and Professor Flitwick gave us enormous amounts of homework. And Professor Connor gave us a huge list of Literature to read for this term and the summer."

Lucius nodded gravely. Draco had to suppress a grin at how serious he looked. "And Mathematics?"

Draco's desire to grin vanished. "It's – well, I'm working on it," he lied, remembering the blank pages of homework sheets in his room.

"It's your only B for the term." Lucius pointed out, reaching for another spoonful of gravy.

Draco's jaw clenched. Was it always about grades? "I know. I'm working on it."

"I think it's quite inappropriate to spend your time drawing up in your room while your Mathematics isn't on the highest level. In fact, I think something should be done about it." He said it with an air of simplicity, as if he was talking about today's weather. "Professor McGonagall phoned your Mother to inform us of your falling grades in this subject."

"Is something the matter, Draco, honey?" Narcissa put her fork down onto the table and leaned forward. Lucius also looked at him expectantly. Even their servant watched him from his place next to the kitchen door, a silver platter in hand.

Draco looked around suspiciously. "Nothing. It's just a hard theme this term. 'S all." He shrugged, mid-mouthful.

"Well," Lucius shifted in his seat ceremoniously, "if that's the cause, I'm sure it's easily fixed. I believe you're just as determined to get your A. Until that's the case, you will be grounded during the weekends."

There was a moment of complete silence. "_Grounded?_" Draco spat. "But you can't – you can't just-"

Narcissa bit her lip. "Draco, honey-"

"I'm working hard enough already!"

"Your sister got all A's, Draco, and she too had been grounded several times-"

"Mom! I'm not my sister!" He looked at his Father hopelessly. "I have a right to go out!"

"_When _you get your A in Mathematics-" Narcissa pointed out calmly.

"It's not fair-"

"_Will you listen to your parents, Draco Malfoy_!" Lucius bellowed, towering upon his son threateningly. "I've had enough of your arrogance! Don't ever argue with your Mother! And listen to what people much wiser than yourself have to say!" Draco shut his mouth, eyes wide open, staring up at his Father. "If I said you'll be grounded – then you'll be grounded! Now if you don't want to be grounded for the rest of the term – do as you are told!"

Silence fell upon the room. The tension was so thick, one could have cracked it with a knife.

"Lucius-" Narcissa began, reaching cautiously for his arm.

"And from now on you'll bring every result of your test and homework to me, personally. Understood?"

Draco breathed in and out unevenly, not daring to say a word.

"_Understood_?" Lucius roared.

"Yes," Draco croaked. "Understood."

…

Well, things were looking up apparently. No parties at Pansy's, no parties at Blaise's, no parties at the Weasley's and no Spring Ball. No fun allowed. Whoever said seventeen was the best age, most probably wasn't a Malfoy, or, at least not one of those doomed teenagers whose parents were fanatical about excellence.

On Monday morning, Draco, feeling rather annoyed, asked Pansy's chauffeur to pick him at Malfoy Manor. Pansy, however, couldn't be happier that morning. She hopped into the car and hugged Draco tighter than usual. Then she opened her bag and slipped out an expensive maquillage set. _Dior _was engraved on it, in italic silvery letters.

Draco ripped his gaze away from her make-up and settled in his seat. "So how did it go with Potter last night?" Draco asked curiously.

"Oh, good," she beamed. "We talked for a bit, mostly about school and everything. But he had to go to dinner at six-thirty – they have it with the entire boarding section in the Dining Hall – so I didn't get to ask much. Oh, and he said he'd probably be online today as well."

Draco only raised an eyebrow.

"I wish we'd be able to talk more. I wish he would _like _me. It'd be so much easier that way." Pansy sighed. "And then my parents are driving me nuts. Mom bothers me about my Spring Ball dress and Dad can't stop talking about his football World Cup. I wish they'd just leave me alone for a bit."

Draco considered telling her the problems _he _had in his family right now. It's not dresses, balls and football matches. It's grades, honor and excellence. And complete absence of fun for the next month.

"And Jimmy phones me every day now – doesn't he understand I don't like him anymore?" Pansy ranted on, packing her make-up set irritably. "I mean, get a life!"

"Yeah," Draco nodded absent-mindedly, watching her fuss about.

"What's up with you this morning?" Pansy asked, frowning into her bag, her hand rummaging through her belongings.

"Me? Oh – nothing." Draco said dismissively, honestly waiting for further inquiry from Pansy's part. When none came, he continued, "Just had a row with my parents."

"Oh?" Pansy asked.

"Yeah. About my grades and stuff…" Draco rolled his eyes and awaited a consolation, consisting of complete and violent verbal assault of his parents.

"Did you do your Math?" She asked instead. "Oh God – Math's first lesson."

Draco frowned. _Okaaay_. So she wasn't showing a_ny_ interest in him whatsoever, this morning. "What Math?"

Pansy glanced at him weirdly, "The Math homework she gave us after our test. Didn't you hear?"

Draco slid down in his seat.

"Shit!"

One thing Draco learnt while having McGonagall as a teacher and Lucius as a father was that both went gibbering mad when promises weren't accomplished. Including homework. So when granted with five minutes before first class, Draco seized the chance to begin his work. Of course, technically, it was impossible to complete it within five minutes. But those who've found themselves in a similar situation would most likely agree that doing it _right _didn't actually matter as much as doing it _all. _

Students arrived one after the other, slamming their bags onto their desks and burying their heads in their arms. These were consequences for those whose weekend was based on activities parents and teachers would rarely approve of. Draco sat at the back row, bent over stacks of papers and books. He barely acknowledged anyone's arrival into the classroom, dismissing them with a nod of his head and a distracted smile. Potter walked in seconds before the bell rang. He nodded at Draco, who offered him an anxious look and nodded back, a little too nervously than intended.

"Homework?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Draco sighed and rubbed his temples. "Can't do shit."

Harry shook his bag off of his shoulder and placed it on his chair, all the while squinting at Draco's homework. A humorous smile spread across his dark features, the same kind that one would call mocking. "Oh. _Today's _homework."

_Let the beast play with its prey, _Draco thought irritably. "Yes, _today's _homework." He imitated Potter's voice with annoyance.

Harry regarded him for a long moment and sat down gracefully. Then he pulled the homework sheets closer to himself. "What don't you understand?"

Draco gaped. Harry Potter not only _talking _but offering _help_? He must have been hallucinating. "I don't get any of it, to be honest."

Harry's eyed him mirthfully yet again. "Right. Well, there are four equations to learn. Do you know them off by heart?"

Draco felt his cheeks heating up. "No. Not really."

"That's a start," he snorted. "Then there are four equivalent rules, one of which is purely logical – so you don't really need it. I suppose you haven't learnt those either?" Laughter played in his eyes.

"No. Not really," Draco repeated carelessly.

"Basically, each exercise is based on one of the rules. The last one includes random questions on the theme-" he suddenly stopped and looked at the door expectantly.

Professor Snape, a tall murky-looking man, walked in and the entire class shot up from their seats in greeting. He nodded impatiently and spoke with his voice alike a croaking raven, "Professor McGonagall is absent today, hence my presence here this lesson. If you have homework to complete, you may do so, otherwise I can gladly provide you with some work down in the laboratories. Any questions?"

Silence enveloped the classroom.

"Good," Snape nodded again and sat down at McGonagall's mahogany table.

Draco saw as Pansy whispered something to Parvati and they giggled girlishly. Hermione whispered something to Ron, apparently something too intellectual for him to understand, because he was soon staring at her with his brows almost dimwittedly furrowed. The rest of the class gazed around curiously, mouthing questions to each other. Draco turned back to Potter. The latter was glaring at the new-comer, eyes venomously narrowed into two green slits.

It was Draco's turn to smile. "You hate that guy, don't you?"

Harry averted his eyes towards the blond and the glare instantly lost its poisonous intensity. "You're very observant," he whispered sarcastically, a sinister glint sparkling in his eyes.

"And here I thought you were Potions Master's little pet," Draco grinned.

Harry eyed him humorously. "Do you have a nickname for everyone at Hogwarts?"

"Only – well – the most extraordinary ones deserve a title," Draco replied, remembering shamefully that Potter too had a nickname. Boy Wonder. Mystery Man.

"Right," he watched the blond calculatingly for a couple of moments. Then, as if something clicked automatically, he switched themes. "So. You want me to help you out with that homework?"

Draco raised his brows in surprise. _Seize the chance while it's there. _"Sure."

Okay, so the one other thing learnt over the past four years of studying in Hogwarts Academy was that not all people in class were as talkative as he was. People like Draco, who socialized as a hobby on a regular basis, who were easy conversationalists and who, most of all, loved people in general, were singled out in the class as especially cheery. They were like butterflies, floating above the crowd, enlightening everything with their weightlessness and optimism. People who enjoyed company. Enjoyed talking. And most of all, enjoyed when the crowd appreciated them.

There were people like Lavender, who talked a little too much and mostly about oneself. There were people like Ron, who took pleasure in silence more than in conversation, but loved a company of close friends nevertheless. And finally, there were people like Harry Potter, who enjoyed only God knew what and liked God knew who – mostly because they didn't talk _at all. _Leave alone socialize somehow, or float above the crowd, enlightening. Especially Harry Potter. Those green slits were as murderous as daggers at times.

Another fact that seemed fundamental at Hogwarts, to Draco, personally, was that Mathematics wasn't an enjoyable subject. Never had he been able to pass an exam with brilliant grades and to relax, confident in his knowledge. Especially when McGonagall's sharp remarks would get to you one way or another. Or Pansy and Parvati would giggle from both sides, never paying attention to the lecture.

So obviously when he started looking forward to Mathematics out of all subjects and Harry Potter, out of all students in the school, offered him help with catching up – Draco felt a little suspicious. Distrustful of his mental health. Wondering whether the world has gone crazy. In all, just a _little _suspicious.

It was on the Wednesday, as Draco rushed to Maths, the usual sparkling grin on his face. Pansy could barely keep up with him as he raced through the corridors and endless flights of stairs. Lavender, Hermione, Parvati and Ron were standing beside the door, chatting. Draco beamed at them and Lavender kissed him on the cheek, reaching up to slide her hand through his silky hair, as she always did. Pansy huffed and readjusted her fringe irritably.

"Why the hell were you running up here like crazy?"

Draco glanced at her, taken aback. "I wasn't running."

"Yeah, right. Just sprinting."

Parvati raised her eyebrows questioningly and Hermione gazed back and forth between the two blondes in a typical languorous manner. Pansy walked inside the classroom, mumbling under her breath. Draco followed suit. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing." She shrugged a little too indifferently. "Everything's just peachy," she added.

Potter, seated at the back of the classroom lifted his head and eyed them cynically. She gave him a forged smile and slammed her books on the table. Draco frowned and reached for her arm tenderly, "Panse. Is something wrong?"

"I said nothing!" She looked up and her gaze turned apologetic. "I'm just… really annoyed with everything at the moment."

_Oh. More sulking, _Draco thought bitterly.

"What now?" Draco asked exasperatedly.

"Actually, nothing." She gave him a dirty look and returned to her folder.

Draco sighed tiredly and walked to his seat. "Fucking hell!" He muttered angrily.

He had had enough of her drama for a lifetime already, he decided. Get a counselor. Go to a psychologist. But don't always get snappy when faced with a small problem.

Potter only looked at him curiously, as if waiting for a continuation.

"Can't fucking deal with anything," he mumbled. He buried his head in his hands.

"Fairytale over?" He asked in his usual skeptical manner, glancing at Pansy.

"For the next four weeks – definitely."

"A month of doom?" Harry snorted.

Draco grinned despite himself. "Something like it. Basically grounded until I improve my grades in Math."

The raven-haired smiled, cat-like. "So McGonagall was right. I always wondered if sitting next three girls sucked your brains out."

Draco laughed quietly. Meanwhile, the lesson began, as Professor McGonagall paced before the blackboard, lecturing. "Not really. You just tend to miss out bits of lectures." He shrugged.

Harry half-nodded and began scribbling in his notebook again. It was unbelievable, really, how the guy never did any Math in class but got the best grades possible. A talent worth hours of reading in early childhood, no doubt. Or simply a skill of a self-denying genius. Draco sighed and watched as the old woman opened her mouth to talk, never actually hearing her. "I wonder why she ever went into teaching if she hates us so much."

Harry looked up and smirked. "Being excellent at math is enough for this place."

Draco huffed. "Yeah, right. I _suck _at Math."

Harry snorted and continued scribbling down notes in his neat, curvy handwriting. "You just need to learn more," he commented quietly, his green eyes never leaving his notebook.

"I can't. I can't learn something I don't get." Draco sighed and stabbed the table with his pen several times. When he looked up again, Potter staring him down.

"You need help then."

Draco grinned. "Look who's talking," he joked. Harry gave out another ironic smile. "No, but seriously. Could – could you do it? Like, help me? A bit?" he added hastily.

Harry regarded him calculatingly. "Yes. I could."

"Really?" Draco asked, unbelievingly.

"Yes," Harry repeated, his velvety, low voice leaving no doubts. "The question is when. Can you stay after school?"

"Can _you_?"

"I'm a boarder. I live here." He shrugged with one shoulder.

"Oh right. Well, I'm free this afternoon." Draco suggested.

Harry pursed his lips in thought. "In the library at four?"

"Sounds good to me. And, thanks – really – I know I wasn't really-"

"Yeah, okay, yeah." Harry cut him off, the same mocking glint appearing in his eye.

Draco nodded and turned away, a smile playing across his features. Well. Things were definitely looking up in the Math Department.

…

"What exactly don't you understand?" Harry asked, settling down at an empty desk in the library.

"Everything. It's like Japanese to me." Draco opened his Math notebook and fumbled with the pages idly.

Harry glanced at him mirthfully. "Right. Well, you could start by learning those equations by heart."

Draco looked down into his book and sighed. Then he looked up at the raven-haired boy. Curiosity was eating him up. "Potter?"

He lifted his head and his black fringe drooped over his eyes. "Yes?"

"Why are you helping me?"

Harry's smile grew wider. As in, more sarcastic. "Charity."

Draco snorted. "And seriously?"

"And seriously, by being here, I'm skipping boarders' basketball practice."

"Oh," Draco nodded appreciatively. That made more sense. "'Cause I was starting to think you might be ill."

Potter laughed shortly. "No, I just hate basketball. So if you're free tomorrow afternoon, you can be my alibi again."

Draco smirked. "So much for being charitable."

Harry shook his head. "They make us do shit in the boarding section. Even during the weekends."

"What are they making you do this weekend?"

Harry shrugged. "We're going on an expedition. To the mountains."

"Like hiking?" Draco laughed aloud. "Careful not to run into Heidi."

Harry sent him one of his precious glances. "Learn those equations, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Potter snorted and began writing in his notebook again, with the same small black handwriting that suited him so perfectly.

…

When Draco got his test back – the first one he's written at his new place next to Potter – he wasn't especially surprised. Forty-eight percent. Well – a failure, but so _what_? It's acceptable to fail in Mathematics. It's too logical. You either get it, and you pass – or you don't get it, and you fail. So getting a back a test with a red circled, big, fat "Fail" written across it, was considered a habit.

Hence, when Draco wrote his test on Friday afternoon and got it back during the same double period with a red circled big, fat "94" written across the front page, he was in shock. After two afternoons spent in the library with Potter, Draco was awaiting a good grade. Good as in, eighty percent at most. Not _ninety-four. _

"You're so fucking good, Potter!" Draco sang, grinning at his grade. "I passed! Man, I passed!"

Potter eyed him with one of his especially sardonic gazes. "I noticed, Malfoy."

"Not only passed – but I passed with _ninety-four percent_! How fucking amazing is that?" Draco couldn't stop grinning. He felt like hugging someone. "Thanks to you, of course."

"I only helped you understand the topic, not do the test. You passed it yourself," Harry commented, stacking away his papers.

Draco beamed, holding up his test. "You know what this piece of paper is?"

Potter raised a brow. "A low-service good from the near-by store?"

Draco was tempted to roll his eyes, but knew he only did it with Pansy, his best friend. "This is an official permission for me to go out this weekend. Blaise's throwing a party at his mountain cottage."

"Woo," Harry said sarcastically, rounding his eyes in false joy.

"Aren't you coming?" Draco asked, then suddenly remember who he was talking to. Of course. Potter never went to parties. Not the enlightening butterfly. Harry seemed to be thinking of the same. "Oh. Right. You're stuck with Heidi in the mountains."

"And Mr. Warton."

"Screw Mr. Warton and Heidi," Draco exclaimed. "Come to the party."

"Okay. How about I park my tent next to Zabini's cottage?" Harry asked sarcastically. Draco blinked confusedly and the raven-haired gave out a chuckle. "I can't."

"Yeah, you can. I can sign you out for the weekend."

Silence met his proposal. Harry frowned at him, puzzled.

"Sign you out – you know, sleep over at my house-"

"I know what you mean."

"Then what's the problem?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why would you do that?"

Draco furrowed his brows, perplexed. Then he got it. Of course. How weird must it look to Potter? Draco Malfoy proposing to sleep over at his manor. Apart from the fact that even the most privileged were rarely invited to stay over, was the fact that he was just a Potter, some freak of a classmate, not a family-friend or a world-wide celebrity. Just Potter.

Draco shrugged. "Charity."

A typically Potterish grin appeared on his face. "And seriously?"

The blond sighed. He almost forgot that it was always supposed to be posh and sophisticated with Malfoys. So there must be a reason much more ingenious than just a simple invitation. "You get to skip the Heidi show up in the mountains and go to the party. Come on. I have to somehow thank you for the tutoring."

The grin widened. "I don't see what you get out of it."

"You want a deal?" Draco asked irritably. "Okay. Here's your fucking deal. I sign you out and you tutor me. Fair enough for Mister I-don't-do-thank-you's?"

"Fair enough," Harry laughed.

"I'll phone my mother to send in a fax. You need your parents to send in an e-mail or something, allowing you to stay at Malfoy Manor on Saturday and Sunday."

"Manor?" Harry whistled. "So you guys are posh."

Draco grinned. "Posh? You kidding me? Noble sort. Aristocracy. I'm a total snob."

"I have a hard time believing that." Harry's green eyes glittered with mirth. "But keep up the image, it suits you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco was awaiting another sardonic joke.

"Honestly?"

"Preferably, yes."

Potter looked thoughtful for a moment. "Snobbery doesn't become you. Neither does all the expensive arrogance. You can play aristocratic and posh - all those luxurious pricey things would most probably suit you. But I'd say you're noble. Using the good definition of the word. As in, truly noble."

Draco smiled in surprise. "Why?"

"Stable impressions over the past four years. You somehow get to observe more when the spotlight isn't directed on the top of your head."

Draco nodded absentmindedly. So Potter didn't live in his own little mysterious, magical world like everybody had the tendency to think. He wasn't only a straight-A student, commonly known as year twelve genius. He seemed confident. Intelligent. Strong and honest. And very, very observant. So silence didn't mean oddness. It meant attentive secretive analysis of his surroundings.

"Earth calling." Harry exclaimed with laughing eyes.

The bell rang, interrupting Draco's thoughts abruptly. He started. "Right. Let's go."

…

He phoned Pansy after school, while waiting for his mother to pick him up in the front yard. She was rough all week, but their row on Monday was forgotten and forgiven mutually.

"Hey, Panse."

"Hey-llo," she said in her usual cheery voice.

"What's up?"

She sighed into the receiver tiredly."Finally the weekend. I felt like _dying_ during English."

Draco decided not to waste any time. "Are you coming to Blaise's party?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"I thought so," he said, ignoring her question purposely. "I thought you'd want to come."

"Why's that?"

"Well," he shrugged, "there's someone who you might be interested in-"

"Oh my God-"

"-and, well, I thought maybe you'd be glad that he'd be there too-"

"Don't tell me! Omigod!" She shrieked excitedly.

Draco grinned. "I signed Potter out for the weekend."

"You _did_? For the- Draco, you're crazy! Did he say _yes_?"

"Of course he said yes. No one says no to Draco Malfoy," the blond grinned.

"Omi_god_! You're so crazy! I love you!" She squeaked delightfully.

"I thought you'd want him around. You know. Your girly seducement and all that stuff." He scoffed half-heartedly.

"Ah, I love you! Omigod, that means I'll have to wear something different to the party." He heard her shuffling, then she gasped, "Are we still going to the mall tomorrow?"

"Yeah, 'course," he rolled his eyes, "and, yes, I allow you to flirt with Potter."

She laughed brightly, "I don't know about _that_. 'Mione, Lav, Ron, Seamus, Dean _and_ Theo said they'd be coming too. Which means we'll take up most of Charlie's again."

"Okay, I'll order a table at Charlie's for lunch, and then we can go up to Blaise's to help him organize stuff. Sounds good to you?"

"Sounds great. So, by the fountain at eleven? Dean and Seamus said they'd be there before and Ron's picking Hermione at her house at about quarter to-"

"Eleven is perfect." Draco agreed, checking the time anxiously. "Where the _hell _are my parents?"

"You said your dad was in New York. No point in waiting for _him _to pick you up," she giggled.

"No, but mother's supposed to-" He saw a black jeep sliding through the school gates gracefully. "Right, well, there she is. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"'Kay. See you tomorrow. Eleven o'clock. Don't forget to bring Potter." She sang merrily.

Draco chuckled as he approached the car. "I won't. Bye!" He climbed into the car, onto the passenger's seat. "Hey, mom."

"Hey, honey," she echoed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She did a sharp turn in the parking lot and drove out of the iron gates yet again, and onto the main road. "Draco, I've sent in the fax. But who is that boy? Harry Potter, is it?"

"Yeah. Harry Potter. He's been helping me out with my math – as in catching up on the topic. In fact, he's helped me understand everything so well that I passed my test with ninety-four percent."

"Oh, honey, that's marvelous!"

"Yeah." Draco nodded, looking at her cautiously. "That's why I was hoping I could go out this weekend."

Narcissa shot him a look of surprise. "I don't know what your Father would say. He told me to not let you out at all."

Draco bit his lip. "Well, it's only a trip to the mall with a couple of classmates. I could buy the groceries on my way home." Narcissa wavered slightly. "I'm sure father would agree. I passed the test with an _excellent _grade. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Well, honey, I don't know…" Narcissa sighed, watching the road. "I was hoping you could study. Especially in the evening. I'm going to that cocktail party in London Saturday evening, and I asked Clara to stay over for the night, so you can stay up late at home. Maybe even get some of your homework done, so you can sleep late on Sunday."

An ingenious idea sparked up. Draco bit back a grin. _Act a well-behaved and obedient child and you'll get what you want. _"Okay, we'll study. We've got loads of homework anyway. But please – please, please – can I go to the mall tomorrow?"

"Fine. Fine." Narcissa dithered for a moment. "But not a word to Lucius – you hear me?"

"Of course, mom. You're the best!" Draco smirked and settled more comfortably in his seat. It was far too easy to fool a parent when you acted sweet and compliant. The easiest would be to fool Clara – the old woman would gladly go home for the night instead of watching two youngsters 'study'. If not, a small doze of magical anesthetic potion would do even better. Then he and Potter would sneak out to the party and return before anyone suspected a thing.

In his room, Draco climbed onto the window sill with his phone and cigarette in hand. He dialed an unfamiliar number and waited till someone picked up.

"Hello, boarding section Hogwarts Academy speaking," a pleasant female voice echoed.

"Hello, could I speak to Harry Potter please?"

"One moment, please, sir."

Draco awaited, thinking of where Potter could be right now. Avoiding basketball practice in the library? Ditching volleyball sessions in his room?

A minute passed and an agitated voice picked up the phone, "Hello?"

Draco recognized the voice, but not the tone. Harry usually spoke in even, low and self-confident tones. "Hey, Potter. It's Draco."

"Oh, it's you," Harry almost gave out a sigh of relief.

"Who did you think it was?" Draco asked, curiously. He lighted his cigarette.

"Just – family." He sounded hesitant. Another phenomenon. "What's up? Why are you calling?"

"Just wanted to make sure at what time to pick you up tomorrow. You still wanna go to the mall with us, don't you?"

"Yeah, I could."

"I'll pick you up at ten to eleven, okay? And you can leave your bags in the car."

"Sure."

"I thought we'd go to the mall and then have lunch at Charlie's with everyone."

"Sounds good."

"Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. See you tomorrow!"

Draco hung up quickly, his hands betraying him slightly, as the phone dropped from his grasp. For the first time in ages he felt nervous. And he couldn't figure out why.

…

"I need to buy a dress," Pansy announced for the fiftieth time that afternoon.

"Pansy. We _know,_" Seamus rolled his eyes. So did all the boys of their group. Ever since they've exited Starbucks at half-past eleven, they've been in and out of girly shops, watching Pansy try different outfits on and either nod appreciatively or scoff disgustedly.

"We could go to Chanel or Dior," Lavender suggested, fixing her hair in a compact mirror fussily.

"I've bought half the shop last weekend. Plus it's too couture," Pansy replied. "It's just one of Blaise's odd parties."

"Exactly!" Dean exclaimed. "Then why have we been hanging in here for an _hour_?"

"It's only been fifty minutes," Lavender rolled her eyes. "Get tough, boys. You'll need this when choosing a bride."

"No such trouble," Ron smiled and slid his arm around Hermione's waist gently. She blinked at him sweetly.

"Aw," Draco grinned, then caught Potter's amused eye.

"You'd actually start believing they're about to marry," he whispered to the blond.

Draco acknowledged the joke with another smile and looked around. A couple of girls giggled at him from the other side of the mall. He turned away. "I need you to do me a favor. Actually to all of us. Can you tell Pansy she looks good the next time she tries something on? I'm sick of this girly shopping."

Potter smiled mysteriously. "I won't ask why you need _me _to tell her that."

Draco nodded. "No, don't. I bet you figured by now."

He eyed the girl comically. "Why don't you try this on?" Harry suggested, picking up a silk mini-dress. Theodore snorted.

"It's a night-gown, Potter. I thought you'd know by now." His eyes glittered unpleasantly. "Didn't _Cho_ like wearing this kind of stuff?"

Silence hung in the air. Potter didn't look insulted, but, if it was possible, even more amused. "Why, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Draco blinked confusedly. So did the rest of them, while Theodore's cheeks colored slightly. Lavender, apparently completely unaware of their earlier discussion, squeaked from the middle of the shop. "Pansy! I've found you a dress!"

"Sweet Merlin!" Seamus sighed and banged his hand against his forehead.

Pansy rushed into the changing rooms and slid out minutes later, in a velvet mini. Draco caught Potter's eye again, but this time he was even more cynical.

"You look stunning," Potter commented, his voice sarcastically sharp. No one but Draco seemed to notice, though, amazed by the fact that Potter spoke aloud. It even overcame the crazed astonishment when they've found out Potter was going to the mall with them in the first place.

Pansy's eyes lit up with happiness. "Seriously?"

"Honestly." Potter's eyes met hers. Was she too blond too notice the mirth that filled them?

"You do look wonderful, Panse," Draco said with a smile hoping to cover Potter's arrogant expression and at the same time knowing that if he said so, the others would also be convinced. "Buy it."

"Okay." She beamed gleefully. "I'll be a second!"

One second turned out to be five minutes, but it didn't really matter, because they were finally out of the shop. The nine of them dined at Charlie's, an expensive restaurant across the road. It was Ron's and Draco's turn to pay the bill – as each Saturday, or at least every two weeks, they traditionally gathered in the restaurant and two people had to pay, to make it fair. He could tell Potter was used to paying for himself and dealing with his own bills, but Draco insisted on the rule. It _was_ a rule. A tradition that he hoped would never change, even after graduation.

After that, they rushed to their houses, each on a separate car or bus, saying their rushed goodbyes and planning to reunite at Blaise's.

Draco called his chauffeur hurriedly. Then he turned to Potter. "There's the plan. My mother's leaving to London in a couple of hours. We need to pretend to be working. She can't know anything about the party at Blaise's cottage. She doesn't know. There's also an old woman who's staying to watch over us at night, but we need to get rid of her somehow. She shouldn't know either."

"That's fixable," Potter shrugged.

Draco smiled. It was so easy with Potter. No useless questions, no pointless conversations, on the contrary - he seemed to understand everything rather quickly. Rare talent nowadays.

"Let's get started then."

…

Blaise's party was a bash. The usual sort of Saturday night teenager party with a young DJ turning the newest hits on the dance floor, light snacks and heavy alcoholic drinks with high degree-values. The house was enveloped in semi-darkness, occasional sparkles of colorful light blinking from every corner. Comfortable sofas were aligned against walls in the living room and busy bartenders occupied the kitchen. Blaise, for it was apparent, loved showing off his wealth and invited two professional stripers who were now busy smothering metallic poles in the lounge. Not that his house wasn't a show of incredible riches itself– one could hardly imagine how much this castle cost Zabini's parents. Huge in all its dimensions – it took up at least a thousand and a half square meters of space - unbelievable amounts of territory for just a mountain cottage they rarely visited.

It was half-past eleven and the party was at full blast. Draco didn't know half the people and frankly, the desire to meet them didn't arise either. The non-Hogwarts girls had taken a layer or two off while rocking on the dance floor and boys had apparently taken it under their supervision to get the girls' innocence properly sabotaged. Not that anyone minded, of course. On the contrary, actually. Blaise seemed to enjoy the fact that his party was slowly transforming into a passionate orgy.

Draco came down from the dance floor, in need of a drink. Only their year, and the grade above was invited to the party, but he suddenly lost everyone he knew in the crowd. Hermione and Ron had disappeared together mysteriously minutes before and Parvati and Pansy were too drunk to comprehend anything. He took a Martini in the bar and returned to the black leather coaches in the living room. He saw Potter sitting with a long-haired beauty on one of them and approached them tentatively. Before he had the chance to greet the two though, Blaise advanced on him, with his loyal troop of slender blondes tiptoeing closely behind.

"Draco, man! I've been looking for you all over. You like the party so far?"

Draco gave him a reassuring smile, "It's great."

Blaise smirked proudly. "So, ladies," he said, addressing the three blondes by his side, "this is the person I wanted you to meet. Soul of any party, heart of our community at Hogwarts. We know each other ever since first grade, right, Draco?" Blaise cackled self-righteously.

"Draco Malfoy," presented himself, giving each a light peck on the cheek. They melted under his smile.

"This is Savanna and Shannon Green – twins, and this is Lira San," Blaise announced, his hand on the latter's butt. She giggled drunkenly.

Savanna, a tall dirty-haired blonde with light brown eyes, picked up the speech, clearly under the influence of numerous drinks. "We've heard a lot about you, Draco – I'm _so_ glad to have met you – Blaise has the _best-est _bestfriend _ever-"_

"You two seem like _best_ buddies," commented Lira, a light short-haired blonde.

"Oh, here's Potter." Blaise interrupted her, sputtering his Malibu carelessly. He didn't seem to like the idea of seeing Potter at his house.

Draco turned to face Harry, who was standing by his side, looking bored, one hand holding some fancy alcoholic cocktail and the other in his pocket. "Oh, right. This is Harry Potter," Draco said to the three girls. "A friend of mine."

Both Potter and Blaise gave him surprised glances. The blondes didn't seem to notice and reached up to brush their cheeks lovingly against Harry's. "A pleasure," Shannon murmured, undressing him hungrily with her eyes. Potter looked down at her cautiously, like one would if an alien landed on his roof.

"Right, well, Draco. Hope you enjoy the party. If you need a bedroom," he winked his eye amusedly, "I reserved one especially for you. Have fun."

He vanished just like he appeared, instantly. Draco fell onto the leather coach and fished out a cigarette from his pocket. He offered one to Potter, who dropped next to him on the sofa. "I don't smoke," Potter shook his head. He narrowed his eyes, watching as Draco lit it up carefully.

Draco took a drag and relaxed in his seat. "Why?"

Potter watched the cigarette in Draco's elegant fingers, as a foreign dangerous creature. "It kills you. Inside-out."

The blond snorted. "Sweets kill you too."

"I don't eat sweets either." Potter confessed, turning away and sipping his drink.

Draco shot him a shocked look. "Healthy. I do both. I wouldn't survive without sugar or tobacco. Those are my life sources."

Potter eyed him with sudden seriousness. "That's sad. Sad that you depend on something that harms you."

Draco only rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't drink either."

"_Never_." Potter took a sip of his drink and grinned. It was Martini and Fruit Juice.

Draco snorted. "What do you depend on, then? Perhaps something not as horribly material." Draco's eyes observed Harry's face for a while before he grinned foolishly. "Maybe you depend on _lurve_?"

Harry smirked. "Love? What rubbish. Soupy, cheesy rubbish."

Draco raised his brows indignantly. "Love is rubbish? _Love _isrubbish?"

"It is. Complete waste of vocabulary. I'd have love as a synonym to trash-"

"Oh – so you're one of those who don't believe in love," Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "It's stupid to say it doesn't exist when you know perfectly well it does."

"I never said it didn't," Harry took a small sip of his cocktail and sat back calmly. "I only expressed my opinion about it."

"Love's not _trash. _Love's one big power that keeps this world rotating-"

"Right, so you're the hopeless romantic here," Harry smirked.

"Most of the world's greatest literature is based on the theme of love. Not sex, not lust – _love. _Like Romeo and Juliet, whose dramatic end was caused by their desire to be together."

"How on Earth could love cure Romeo and Juliet's natural suicidal tendencies?" Harry asked with a wide smirk. "And plus, look where their so-called love got them."

"Well, if it's not love towards your partner, then it's love of your relatives and friends." Draco insisted stubbornly.

Harry shrugged. "Love towards your friends is called respect. Love towards your partner isthe cheap aftermath of sex and lust. It's quite easy, really-"

"Oh, so you don't love your parents? You only _respect_ them?"

Harry shrugged and leaned towards the table to add some ice into his drink. Draco also leaned forward, watching the raven-haired. By now, if the debate was going on between Pansy and Draco, the girl would either be in hysterical tears or in hysterical anger. Pansy had the tendency to overreact and get mad at any occasion. Draco never understood what sort of sadistic pleasure she got from trying to ignore him and make him feel guilty for voicing his thoughts aloud. He learnt to keep his opinion to himself. People were never grateful for advices, unless they asked you specifically for it. And very often people took debates on a person level.

Potter apparently wasn't this type of person, to which Draco was truly grateful. And even if utterly stubborn, neither was angry at one another. After all, debates were only a part of conversation.

Draco wanted to add something else, to talk, to discuss, but Lavender, so very promptly, dropped onto Draco's lap, her hair flipping across his chest. Parvati, in a drunken state, fell onto Potter, draping her arms around his neck for support. Potter locked perplexed gazes with Draco, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Omigod," Parvati suddenly realized who she was sitting on and slid onto the table in shock. "Are you Potter?"

"I _told _you," Lavender sang.

Parvati gave out a drunken hiccough, "Why aren't you dancing?"

"We were talking," Draco said, hoping she would get the hint.

Lavender rubbed her face jadedly. At least she wasn't as drunk as everybody else here. "It's getting hectic in there."

"You were _talking_?" Parvati addressed Potter incredulously.

"Yes, we were," he replied looking down at her almost with pity.

"Where's Pansy? I thought she'd be with you guys," Draco asked Lavender.

She shrugged and glanced at the dance floor. Then, leaning closer to the blond, she whispered, "I'll tell you later."

"She's with Blaise. In his room – or bath, can't remember," Parvati announced officially. She looked at the bar. "Lav, I think I just saw Craig."

"Really?" Her eyes searched the crowd hurriedly. Then she looked at Draco. "I'll be back. Keep Parvati safe. I've never seen her in such a state before."

"Okay," he nodded and took Parvati's hand in his. She took Lavender's place on Draco's knees and leaned back against him. "Are you sure Pansy's with Blaise?"

"Sure, sure, sure," she said enthusiastically, but her words were slurred. "They were snogging-" her eyes widened comically. "Shit! I wasn't supposed to say that."

Draco sighed. "So much for wanting you around, Potter. You could have granted her a chance instead of letting Blaise ravage her."

Parvati suddenly leaped to her feet and, spilling her drink onto her skirt, skipped to the kitchen. Literally skipped, with her arms flapping and her skirt bouncing up and down like a shutter on a windy afternoon. Potter followed her with his eyes, the same Potter-ish smile playing across his features. "That one drank too much."

"It _is _getting a little too hectic in here." Draco eyed the dance floor pitiably.

Potter agreed silently, watching as a group of girls winked at them from the other corner of the room. "You want to leave?" He asked, loudly, over the music.

"Yeah. We can hail a cab and get home early." He stood up and placed his drink onto the table. "Just make sure Blaise doesn't see us."

They left without further ado. It was almost one in the morning and the night breeze was fresh against their faces, as they stepped out into the darkness. In forty minutes or so, they were rounding the familiar corner of Draco's village. The taxi came to a halt in front of Malfoy Manor and Harry lifted his sleepy head from the window. He blinked several times to readjust to the yellowish glow of the car and flattened his black silk blouse and dark blue jeans.

"Come on," Draco gave Harry a hand to pull him to his feet.

He grunted and straightened, yawning. "You paid again didn't you?"

"You were sleeping," Draco shrugged apologetically. The taxi rumbled to life and pulled away from the manor unhurriedly. "Let's go. I have a great idea. You want to swim?"

"Swim?" Potter raised his brows. When Draco nodded, he blinked confusedly. "Swim. Yeah. Sounds refreshing."

Draco grinned. "An idea worth a total drunken maniac, but a great one nonetheless."

"How much did you drink?" Potter asked curiously. His speech sounded a lot less strained now than during soberness.

"Not as much as Parvati, for sure," Draco smiled. He pulled his keys out and unlocked the front door quietly. "Take off your shoes here."

"Wow!" Harry looked around, amazed. "This house is _huge. _Is this a castle?"

"Not really," Draco took his shoes off swiftly. "It's Malfoy Manor. Everyone around here knows how it looks. My mother throws parties for the neighbors and my father's business partners."

Potter listened attentively, while walking across the enormous entrance hall, full of mirrors and golden décor. He spun on his heels, in his socks, his hands thrown to the sides. He looked up to the four meter ceiling, which consisted mostly of beautifully engraved granite and marble plates. Draco smiled and walked to one of the doors along the creamy marble walls of the hall. "In here," he beckoned the raven-haired, who followed obediently. They crossed a corridor and entered a section of the Manor that held a totally different, modern style of architecture – the spa section. There was a huge swimming pool with large, spotlessly clean windows surrounding it, opening a breathtaking sight of their Versailles-style Park. There was a wooden Sauna and a Steam room to their right and several doors to their left, opening to bathrooms and massage therapy rooms. In all, everything a high-class Hogwarts student would and should, in any case, possess.

Potter gazed around with wide green eyes. "This is amazing," he said after some time. "_Amazing,_" he repeated dazedly.

"Well," Draco shrugged his shirt and pants off and kicked off his socks quickly. "Come on. Let's swim."

"Right," Harry unzipped his jeans and took off his socks, throwing them aside; he then took off his blouse. Draco huffed impatiently and tackled the half-naked Harry Potter into the pool, with his black tee shirt still on. The latter protested in surprise and splashed onto the water. He reappeared moments later, laughing loudly.

They swam for a bit before climbing out and clambering onto the wooden benches in the Sauna. Teeth clattering from the cold, they still had the energy to push each other around and punch teasingly, as they did in the swimming pool. Potter finally took his tee shirt off, revealing a perfect set of abs and a flat stomach. He had large tan shoulders and a generally masculine structure – slightly different to Draco's slightly effeminate slenderness. Not that the blond would _ever _admit it, but the raven-haired was probably a lot stronger than himself.

"You live like a King," Harry commented, playing with the tip of his towel, while lying on the warm, wooden bench.

Draco chuckled. "King's didn't have Saunas in their era. Or electricity, or chlorine filters in their swimming pools. So I prefer living like a Malfoy."

In spite of the time – half-past two in the morning – both seemed full of energy. Harry rolled onto his stomach. "No doubt."

The idea of someone not having a swimming pool in their house – however big it was – seemed weird to Draco. "Don't you have a swimming pool at home?"

"No, not really. We used to have a small plastic one when we – me and my cousin – were small, but I guess we kind of grew out of it."

"Where exactly is your house?"

Harry averted his eyes, casting them downwards. "In Bristol – but then they moved-"

"They?" Draco frowned.

Harry glanced up, looking anxious. "Yeah. As in family. They moved to a flat in London. I stay most of the time at Hogwarts, so I haven't seen the flat. Yet."

Draco nodded comprehensibly. "What do your parents do?"

"Nothing much," he fidgeted hesitantly. It looked like the theme annoyed him and, frankly, Draco has never seen Potter as uncertain.

"We can talk about something else if you want," Draco suggested, watching him closely.

Harry sighed deeply. "No, it's fine." He looked indecisive of whether to carry on. Apparently Draco seemed worth it, and Harry continued. "We're not very rich. Well, to be honest, my family's not very generous to me either. I usually deal with my own fiscal problems."

Draco mouthed an "oh". Okay. A surprise. He thought _all_ Hogwarts students were over-bloated with money.

"I would never be able to pay the Hogwarts bills and my family would most likely refuse to spend such money on me alone. So I study hard. It gets me my scholar-ship. I'm only at Hogwarts as their little show of generosity to poor hard-working students. And, of course, I'm someone who lifts their rating. I get good grades – they keep me at school. Very simple."

Draco lay on his back, dumbstruck. He never knew. Never could have suspected. Potter looked like a self-respectable, arrogant son of some wealthy politician. He never looked poor. He wore expensive clothes, took care of his appearances and always looked worth a million bucks. Well, that's what girls always said about him. But obviously things were much, much more complicated for the boy.

"It was one hell of a pain to get into the school. I had to pay to enter the waiting list, about a thousand pounds. That's it. Everything else is covered by the school. So, technically I'm not much of a financial gain for them. For anyone, actually."

"I never knew," Draco finally voiced out, barely trusting his voice. He understood that he was one of the only ones to know these details.

Harry nodded. There was no mirth present in his eyes. "Yeah, well, now you do." he lay his head atop his arms. He still looked physically powerful, no doubt, but at that moment Draco's heart went out to him, like it would to a small defenseless child. "And I'd be grateful if you were the only one for the moment." Harry added quietly.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Draco smiled and rolled onto his side, holding his head with his palm.

Harry snorted with his head low, between his arms. "It's getting really hot in here. Do you want to go swim a bit?"

"Sure," Draco jumped off the bench and opened the door for Harry to go out. They stumbled into the big shower cabin and Harry nudged the blond playfully with his hips. He looked larger than Draco – his hands, his body – he was slightly taller too. Draco slipped out of the shower, laughing loudly and dived into the pool. Harry followed suit, plunging gracefully into the water.

After some time, Draco clambered onto a floating mattress and sighed. Harry mimicked him and lay on his back, gazing into the light blue reflections of ripples on the ceiling. Draco sighed contently, looking through the darkened glass windows of the room – onto the dimly lit park outside. "I'd usually be in here alone." Draco looked to his right, where Harry lay on his large blue mattress, tracing his fingers through soft waves of water. "It's good that you came."

"And I'd probably be in the mountains, rotting in my tent," he stretched his arms over the mattress and sighed. "It's good that you offered," Harry smiled genuinely, his wet hair falling onto his dark green eyes.

Draco's heart performed a lurch in his chest. The alcohol was really influencing his emotions, he thought perplexedly. He tried to smile through his confusion.

If someone asked him what was going on – he couldn't have answered that very moment. What was Potter doing in his house, floating nonchalantly in his swimming pool? Why was he pouring out his soul to Draco? Why was Draco's heart beating so fiercely in his chest? The answer would be – he had no idea. No idea what was happening. No idea why, and no idea what this would lead to. He could have solved any problem, answered any query and explained any scientific phenomenon in the entire universe, it seemed, but never could he have answered those three questions.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter two, a rather long one… Hope you enjoy!

There's also a little button at the bottom of the page that says: "Submit Review". Don't miss it!

…

"This is amazing," Harry repeated as they climbed the marble set of stairs up to the third floor. They spent almost half the night plunging in the pool, lazing about in the Sauna or water-fighting in the steam-rooms and couldn't help but feel exhausted. Draco could only hum in agreement when Harry praised the beauty of his house. The raven-haired ran his hands along the wall as they walked towards Draco's room, to the end of the third-floor hallway. His eyes were abnormally wide with wonder, but he was careful not to touch anything of great value, Draco noticed. He would have said it aloud or at least laughed if he possessed the energy.

Draco felt a shameful pull of pride as he showed Harry into his room. It was huge, really, there was no other way to put it. It had a majestic double bed of about two and a half meters in both width and length – which could fit his entire family onto it without problem – in the middle of the opposite wall, and a white-leather sofa was transformed into a bed by the windows, for Harry to sleep on. There were large sliding mirrored doors along one side, which opened to two sets of tall, spacious wardrobe storerooms, and on the other side, were two enormous windows, leading onto a secluded stone balcony. One could easily climb out onto the roof, from where the entire field beyond their park was seen. The walls were a warm color of peachy cream and the rest of the furniture was in shades of gold and white. There were also large paintings on the walls, and Draco was proud to announce that all of them were his creation.

Harry gazed around with a smile that almost radiated amazement. "I love this house." He finally pronounced lamely.

Draco chuckled and fell onto the bed. "The house's good, no doubt. But try living here…"

Harry seated himself onto the bed and then lay down, as if not trusting it to be real. Then he lifted his slightly drunken gaze onto the blond. "Why? Do you not like it?"

"I do," Draco replied defensively before pausing to think. "But not all the time. Sometimes you just feel… locked up. You know, I end up spending my time either in here or in the park, avoiding my Father most of all," he gave out a dry laugh before realizing that Harry was regarding him somewhat seriously.

"I think you're rather lucky to live here." His placed his arms beneath his head for support. "To have parents who care for you and who must, by all means, love you a great deal." There was no envy in his voice, but a sadness that made Draco look up in surprise.

Then he realized. How could he be so selfish? _He_ had a marvelous family, a magnificent house, a world-wide international education worth thousands and thousands of pounds that his parents could gladly afford – and he was complaining. He didn't have a _right _to complain. What did other children have compared to him? Some – almost nothing, and others – nothing at all. Literally nothing, while he could afford almost anything he desired. Even Harry didn't have that possibility. No magnificent house, it seemed, no money to pay off his immediate and foolish desires and a family that, by his words, wasn't of the best kind. Parents that rarely visited him, while he spent almost every holiday in his room at Hogwarts. Draco could hardly imagine how he could have survived a week without seeing his Mother's smile or the feel of her gentle hands when she stroked his hair in the living room, by the warm fire-

Draco closed his mouth shamefully and bowed his head. "I know," he sighed. "I know." And he couldn't say much else.

Harry's smile returned to its place instantly. "I'm not lecturing you," his eyes twinkled mockingly. "Just saying."

Draco smiled back and stretched across the dark-red covers of his bed. "I know," he repeated. "God, I _am _rather lucky," he smirked now.

Harry snorted and rolled across the bed, toweling his wet hair. Draco's eyes fell onto his back and he noted oddly to himself that he'd never seen Harry look so – so _masculine _in school uniform. Seeing him in different attire made him look alien – not as ordinary as he looked at school, when troops of juniors tracked him down the corridors, or when teachers addressed him politely in class, or when he sat in the back row of Mathematics, buried in his notebook. "Just saying," Harry repeated. He continued after a grim pause. "Myuncle and aunt would never let me sleep in this room. Even if theirs were ten times as large and beautiful."

Draco started slightly and turned to stare.

Harry's jaw clenched and he ceased breathing for a couple of moments, before rolling back onto his back and laying his head onto the covers with his hair spraying around his head. His voice was too indifferent to seem normal. "I was joking," he muttered, only a faint shadow of his usual grin striking uncertainly across his features.

"Right," Draco suppressed a suspicious remark and smiled. "Should we go to sleep? I'm exhausted."

…

He couldn't have seen it in his worst nightmares. Couldn't have possibly predicted it. Yet as unexpected as it came – it seemed perfectly normal. There he was – Potter – in all his glory, talking to him about school, politics and food. Talking all through Mathematics in the back row of the classroom. Chatting all through lunch break, while lounging by the Hogwarts fountain. Sitting together at lunch, surrounded by all Draco's friends. By the end of the week he was so used to talking to Potter that it seemed almost surreal to be around Pansy and Lavender again.

Weird. Really, it looked weird and felt weird. Not only Draco's friends were raising their brows whenever they encountered the blond talking to the social outcast Wonder-boy, but Draco himself was distrustful of his health. Potter was strange. He wasn't like others. He had his own views, strong ambition, and besides, was incredibly intelligent. He stood his ground, and perhaps, was a little too mysterious and silent at times – but whenever he spoke, Draco's couldn't help but respect the boy. Yes, he was still conservative and a little hesitant about personal subjects, and obviously very reserved around others. But bit by bit, he was taking his secretive layers off – and Draco could hardly believe that the ever-so-enigmatic Potter was opening up.

With that in mind, Draco went down on Thursday evening to his Father's office. He had an idea. Earlier in the month, Lucius proposed to take Draco and one of his friends to a rendezvous of old business partners, an important social event for London's business life. Draco had initially planned to take Pansy with him. The idea consisted of taking Harry instead. After all, he was a presentable guy, solid and serious – he seemed perfect for such gatherings. He was pretty sure his parents would find him charming too.

The golden handle seemed frighteningly cold in his palm. He gathered his courage with a decisive sigh, knocked on the door and pushed it open. A soft glow of an antique yellow lamp was the only light in the room; the windows were firmly shut and a thick smell of dust lingered in the air. Two large sets of wardrobes were stacked full with books and endless tomes of literature and encyclopedias. A thick dark-green carpet adorned the floor, and silver platters and shiny decorations stood out against the walls. This was the place he feared so much in early childhood. And frankly, not much has changed since then.

His Father was sitting in a leather armchair behind the wooden desk, his legs resting atop its surface and a laptop set on his lap. He didn't acknowledge Draco in any kind of way. Draco coughed purposely loudly and waited. When the blond man made no sign of recognition whatsoever, Draco spoke up.

"Father?"

"I heard you," he replied calmly, snapping his laptop shut. "What is it?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, first of all, I've brought you a report from Professor McGonagall. I passed my test with ninety-four percent and passed another quiz with ninety-seven." He handed his Father his Agenda tentatively. The man stared up at his son inquiringly, placing the book on his bureau without a blink of his grey eyes.

"And, well, I wanted to ask you – you remember when you said about that event in London this Saturday?"

Lucius nodded once, his expression not changing. "I remember."

"Well, I wanted to bring someone with me – you said it was fine - just a friend – a classmate," Draco added hastily.

Lucius regarded him with a frown and nodded. "Not Pansy I presume?"

Draco shook his head, feeling a sudden pang of guilt rise up to his chest. Was he really doing this? Pansy had wanted this trip so much. He could easily just bring her instead of taking Potter. He could even face her perpetual moans and complaints and tears and emotional talks about her undying love towards other boys, and face the fact that his Mother cuddled her face right in the restaurant and his Father spoke of her family's economical situation when she excused herself to the ladies' room. He could. But for once he admitted that he didn't _want _to.

"No it's not Pansy this time, Father. A boy. A classmate."

Lucius nodded gravely and picked Draco's Agenda from the table. "I'll have a look at this," he gestured to the door and nodded again, distracted by his own thoughts. "It's getting late and you're not in bed. Or is there anything elseyou'd like to ask?"

"No – er, thank you Father," Draco shook his head promptly and in swung the door open again, only to find Dobby – their servant – standing with a tray of tea and biscuits before him.

"Draco-"

"Wait a moment," Draco shushed and closed the door, exiting swiftly into the corridor. He blew out a breath of relief and shuddered albeit himself. The conversation went rather well compared to the usual amount of poking and screaming he got from his Father. Dobby seemed to understand as he gazed sympathetically at the blond. He himself was an elderly man, no less than sixty years old, with kind brown eyes and a sparkling boldness across his head.

"Your Mother had sent to find you," he said with a smile, watching as Draco munched on one of the biscuits anxiously. "She did say you weren't present at dinner and asked to bring you something to eat."

"God, I'm starving," Draco mumbled, reaching for another cookie. "Thanks for that, Dobby. You're finished for today aren't you?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Malfoy has dismissed me," he said watching the door of Lucius's office meaningfully. "So I'm off."

"Good night then," Draco said, still chewing his biscuit. An act his Father would most like scold him for if someone noticed.

Dobby beamed warmly, "Good night young Draco."

…

Draco watched the clock tick away slowly, leaving pointless seconds, minutes behind. Economics was coming to an end, he knew, but he just couldn't _wait _for it to end. So he stared at the clock, then compared it with the time on his white-gold Rolex watch and then glanced swiftly to the blackboard and back above Mr. Hott's head – onto the clock.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

"I don't get it," he heard Pansy mutter next to him, as she slid down in her chair.

Draco lifted a brow, glad for any distraction he could get. "What?"

"Why Potter didn't get laid on Blaise's party."

"_What_?" Draco looked at her confusedly.

She shrugged defensively and looked down, "Well, I saw him with that girl from Public School – the one with the skirt shorter than her belt," she scoffed disdainfully. "And even I tried to dance with him. _All_ the girls were drooling over him," she whispered fiercely. Then she seemed to notice Draco's raised brows and gave out a girlish giggle. "Sorry. All I wanted to ask was whether he really _did _get laid or not."

Draco smiled. "You have a weird way of asking. Well, frankly I don't know. I don't think so."

"I hope he didn't." She bit her lip hopefully.

"Pansy – you slept with Blaise – for God's Sake! Why the hell do you still want Potter?"

Pansy's eyes rounded in horror and her gaze flickered to see if anyone heard. By their classmates' absent faces, hardly anyone was sober and alive enough to listen at all. "How did you find out?"

"I just did. And thanks for telling me," Draco added, not actually intimidated.

"Draco, I-" Pansy opened her mouth several times and shut it silently, gaping. "I was so embarrassed. I didn't want _anyone _to know. But now – now the entire school-"

"No one else knows, don't _fret_," Draco rolled his eyes. "But you could have told me. Couldn't have done any harm."

"I'm sorry," she had wide apologetic eyes. "I-"

"It's _okay. _Really. It happened. So what?" Draco shrugged and turned back to his previous activity – checking the time.

"I really am sorry. I meant to tell you but you went off with Potter and I thought he might somehow know it too-"

"It's fine, Panse. I'm not mad." When she didn't seem reassured enough, he squeezed her shoulder slightly. "I promise."

She seemed at a loss of words for a moment. "Draco-"

The bell rang shrilly and the sound of hundreds of footsteps above their heads and down on lower floors echoed loudly through the classroom. Draco gathered his books hurriedly and swung his Lacoste bag across his shoulder, ready to pounce out of the door. Pansy got up from her chair slowly, her expression uncertain, as she watched the blond. Draco was torn between listening to her apology and running out into the corridor.

"Listen, Panse-" he felt the familiar pang of shame rise upwards in his chest, as he watched her hopeful expression shatter. "I- gotta run. I'll see you during History."

"O-okay," she muttered, blinking up at him, as the rest of the class crowded at the exit. He leaned in to peck her cheek swiftly and almost sprinted out of the classroom. Pacing quickly through the corridors, crashing into people and earning worrisome, petrified glances from juniors, or middle-school pupils, he rushed to the library. By know he knew pretty well where to find Potter during break time.

He was right. Potter was buried in an anatomy encyclopedia, his hair dropping onto his forehead and brushing his cheeks in spiky fringes, his eyes flickering across the pages. Draco chucked his bag onto his desk and sighed to announce his presence. The raven-haired looked up, his usual mocking smile spreading across his tan features. "I thought you'd be in the cafeteria." Potter said, somewhat in between pleasant surprise and typical teasing.

Draco _should _have been in the cafeteria, where all his friends were – almost all his classmates from Lower Sixth, excluding a couple of so-called outcasts. Potter was considered a social Lower-Sixth outcast, and so was Millicent Bullstrode, along with her lanky friend whose name Draco always forgot for some reason. Yes, there were outcasts, the so-called second-hand goods of Hogwarts, just like in any other college. But on the contrary to other schools, the sophisticated intellectuals were of high-value in Hogwarts Academy, while the wanna-be American jocks were traditionally rejected. Stupidity was only allowed for special cases like Lavender, whose parents paid almost double price for her to remain at the Academy.

Draco chose to ignore his comment and settled more comfortably on the desk. He saw the librarian glance irritably at him, as everyone hushed and watched Draco admirably. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"

Harry lifted his head and inspected him oddly for a couple of long seconds. His gaze wavered between Draco's grey ones, as the familiar glitter arose behind the veil of mocking and arrogance Potter so professionally demonstrated in his green eyes. He wasn't sure what it was. Surprise? Curiosity?

"Nothing worth mentioning," Harry replied, still holding Draco's stare. "What about you?"

Draco broke out of the trance and blinked. "G-going to London."

Harry lifted his brows slowly, in a mirthful show of fake-shock. "Really?"

"Really," Draco said, suddenly doubting whether he should bother taking Potter at all. It seems those couple of days hadn't erased any arrogance and self-importance in him. He narrowed his eyes calculatingly. "I thought of taking you along."

Silence met his proposal, as the mocking glint disappeared to be replaced by real alarm this time.

Draco suppressed the urge to grin in triumph and continued. "It's a social gathering of my Father's businesss partners and friends. Lots of important people." When the raven-haired didn't answer, he added conversationally," It'd be cool to get out for a while. Plus, we're staying at Sheraton, which makes it easy to go out if we wish."

Another pause. His black hair drooped over his distrustfully narrowed eyes. "You want to take me to London?"

_Well, smart ass. How did you ever get that? _"You've caught the essential meaning," he pronounced with a wide smirk.

It looked as if the raven-haired debated between asking why and saying something sarcastic in response. After a pause, he settled on something funny to say. "Is there a swimming pool in the hotel?" His comment was followed by the original grin of his own, his eyes glittering with pure green mirth.

Draco's heart gave a jolt and he averted his gaze uncomfortably. Covering it with a cough, he pronounced an equally memorial remark, "Sauna too."

Harry stared at the blond, grinning. "Color me interested."

Draco was about to answer, when Ron and Hermione walked into the library, whispering softly to each other, with identical soupy expressions. The moment Hermione caught sight of Draco sitting atop of Harry's desk, chatting amicably, she ceased her talking and blinked confusedly. Ron stacked his books onto a table and nodded at Draco in greeting. Hermione whispered something to the red-head before making a beeline around the library sofas towards the blond. Harry fixed her with a challenging glare when she arrived at their desk, standing his ground.

"Hi," Draco smiled innocently, giving a small wave of his hand.

"Hi," Hermione echoed instantly, before leaning in closer to whisper. "Pansy was searching for you. She thought you'd gone to the library to work, because you were mad at her."

Draco had the temptation to roll his eyes, which he resisted. "I'm not mad at her."

Hermione shrugged, "She told me you were. But didn't tell me why."

Draco sighed. He could imagine the scene perfectly well: Pansy whining to Hermione with mascara and tears leaking down her cheeks. "Where is she?"

"Cafeteria." She shrugged again. She gave him a pitiful glance and nodded. "I'd go check on her."

"I will." Draco sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. He was fully aware of Harry's eyes on himself for some reason, and titled his head back, exposing his neck purposely, while running a hand through the silky blond hair of his. He defied the urge to check whether Harry noticed.

"And Dylan wants you in his office before lunch. Apparently he wants Prefects to arrange an alumni evening or something," Hermione waved her hand conversationally, "And he also said you could cover Mrs. Sprout for Juniors this afternoon, 'cause she's sick."

"Oh God." Draco rubbed his face now. His only free period for the day had to be ruined. _Bloody juniors._ "Did he say anything about the organization of the Ball yet?"

Hermione shrugged, glancing down at her Monitor badge. "He relies on you for that one."

Draco covered his annoyance with a charming smile. "Okay. Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled sympathetically, raising her bushy brows. "Good luck." She patted his shoulder encouragingly and strolled away, giving Harry a suspicious look.

Draco sat on the table, shoulders slumped and head bowed tiredly. Harry followed the bushy-haired girl warily with his eyes for a moment before averting his attention back to Draco. His voice was velvety and reassuring. "You do realize the entire Prefect and Monitor committee relies on you."

Draco lifted his gaze inquiringly. His tone was serious, unlike usually. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, so you _don't _realize." Harry fixed him with a reproving gaze. "As far as I'm aware, no other Prefect or Monitor gets that many duties or volunteers for so many events. You're the only one who works on that Prefect committee. Doing _everything._"

Draco rolled his eyes this time, "That's not true."

Harry shrugged and flipped his folder open, his expression calm. Draco frowned. Okay, so maybe he _did _work twice as much as Dylan, and maybe he _did _volunteer to participate in every school event, always being supportive and helpful. Maybe he didn't need to organize Spring Ball, because teachers were supposed to do it. But so what?

"You seize any chance to help. Give you something to care for…" He sighed and shook his head, a smile playing across his handsome face.

Draco raised his brows.

"What?" Harry shrugged again, defensively. "It's a good quality."

Draco shook his head in fake exasperation. "I have to go, attend to my patient," he rolled his eyes, "I'll see you after school, right?"

"Of course." It sounded so reassuring, Draco doubted that any natural disaster or terrorist attack would prevent Harry from coming. All the way to the cafeteria, Draco kept mentally returning to their conversation. Harry's words were like warm honey in his chest. "_It's a good quality." _For some reason he couldn't get rid of his velvety voice that rang sweetly in his ears.

Until, of course, he saw Pansy looking upset in the cafeteria. Pure acidic guilt pooled in his stomach as he paced quickly to their table. Lavender gave him a reproachful look, but the rest of them smiled as he emerged from the crowd. Draco rounded the table and kneeled next to Pansy's chair. "Panse? Listen, I'm not mad at you."

"I know." Pansy shrugged with one shoulder jerkily, facing the opposite direction. Her gaze searched for Lavender, who rounded her eyes back. The meaning of this was invisible to Draco, as he watched the mute scene.

"Then what's up?"

Another shrug and Pansy pointedly turned away, flicking her long light hair across his face. Draco reached a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead irritably. He chalked up the idea of just stomping out of the cafeteria and leaving her to dwell in her selfish drama, for he knew the consequences of that. He knew Pansy well enough.

"You want to know what's up?" Lavender crossed her arms fussily, as she inspected him. Brave girl. It was Draco Malfoy she was talking to, after all.

"Lav, please refrain from interfering. I'm sure you have nothing to do with this." Draco snapped, not granting her a glance. She flinched, but stood strong, clutching her arms tightly.

Pansy awarded Draco with a glare. "Just because you don't hang out with me doesn't mean you have to bitch at Lavender."

"Don't hang out with you?" Draco lifted his brows. "What?"

Pansy rolled her eyes and picked a strand of hair to fiddle with absentmindedly. "Hang out. Spend time with, you know? Be _friends _with-"

"You're saying we're not _friends_?" Draco rose up swiftly and stared at her in disbelief. When she looked down wordlessly, he continued, "Just because I went to the library-"

"Not _only _that," she rolled her eyes again, "but the fact that you're now chained to Potter. You ditch us after school. You ditch us during break."

A sudden flood of excitement pooled at the base of his stomach at Potter's name, but he dismissed it for annoyance. He couldn't think of anything coherent to say, as both girls glared at him, almost swelling with superiority. But it was essentially true. He was ditching his friends for the Sixth Form freak. Leaving them to themselves after school, while hanging out with Potter in the park or in the library.

"I'm not ditching you." He finally choked.

Lavender snorted and Pansy gave her a meaningful look. The "I-told-you-so" one. The bell rang above their heads and everyone pulled hesitantly towards the exit of the cafeteria. Seamus and Ginny approached them tentatively. "You guys coming?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah," Pansy lifted her chin proudly, as she glided across the cafeteria, hand in hand with Lavender. Draco watched their retreating backs, as did Ginny and Seamus.

"History?" Seamus suggested. Draci nodded and led the way back to class.

The rest of the day had remained blessedly uneventful. Pansy and Lavender vanished into the crowd the minute lessons ended. But guilt, remorse and secretive anger plagued him all throughout the afternoon and he couldn't get rid of them no matter where he looked or what he did.

Dylan tracked him down in the lounge after school apparently to schedule a Prefect Meeting. But, as Draco agreed wordlessly, he beckoned him closer and hushed in a quiet voice, "Have you started thinking about the Ball yet?"

Draco sighed. "No, not yet."

He did a double take, as his fingers twitched impatiently. "We don't have much time."

"True. _We _don't."

Dylan started. "Well. Think about it, okay? It's all I'm asking." He glanced down at his watch. "Better get going. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bastard," Draco cursed as he made his way to the locker corridor. He threw his bag in and kicked his locker shut. "_All I'm asking_! Fucking bastard."

"Finally something human from you. And here I thought you were inhumanly patient." The all-too familiar velvety voice sounded so sweet right now. Draco spun round to face the raven-haired boy hurriedly. He almost felt like hugging him. Some sort of consolation after a storm of emotions.

"This day's for _shit," _the blond muttered, bowing his head tiredly.

Harry snorted. When Draco didn't respond, he ruffled the blonde's hair. "Cheer up."

"Apparently I'm a bitch who ditches my friends," Draco exclaimed.

Harry laughed whole-heartedly. When a sneer sluiced over Draco's face, Harry's grin fell. "You were serious?"

Draco shrugged moodily. After a day full of blame and guilt, he just felt like pouting and moaning."Pansy's words."

"Jeez," Harry frowned. "How hypocritical."

"I'm just tired." Draco added, feeling like a whining baby. But he couldn't help it.

Harry laughed. He seemed to do it a lot lately – showing his pearly white teeth in a marvelous non-cynical smirk. It was surreally beautiful, Draco had to admit. "Let me show you something."

Draco lifted his gaze curiously.

"You've never been to my room before," Harry's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

"Day-students aren't allowed upstairs." But his comment was half-hearted.

"Who cares? You're the Prefect." He flashed him another grin and soon they were climbing the winding set of stairs up to the boys' dormitory. As they approached Harry's room, the raven-haired boy turned to the blond, "I live alone. So don't expect some nerdy roommate."

The room was decorated in simple colors – classic white and navy. The school curtains were pushed back and twisted behind a sheet of beautiful silvery and blue material that flowed from the very top to the floor. The carpet was also Harry's, for it wasn't one of the schools's faded brown, but a dark grey, soft and warm. A large painting with blurry figures in a hot orange desert, hung above the single bed. The sheets were a faded blue. A fresh smell lingered in the air – the odor Harry always carried – it soaked the furniture, was imprinted on the air. Harry's smell. Unique. Sweet.

All the while, Harry paced around the small room, talking and rearranging things in order. "I wasn't allowed to repaint the walls or redecorate the room entirely…"

"I like it. It's… peculiar. As in very – well – you."

"You think I'm peculiar?" Harry's mirthful eyes searched Draco's.

"Interesting. Different." Draco suggested. He ran his hand through the silky material of the curtains. "These are splendid."

Harry nodded, averting his eyes. He shoved them aside and pushed the window open. "We bought them when – when my Father and me were in India. I remember we brought Mother pashmina, all types of scarves from Cashmere. Something to remember for a lifetime…"

Draco surveyed the other boy for a moment, in silence.

"I've got a shirt from India too." He dug in his perfectly arranged closet and seconds later drag out a rich blue cashmere jumper. He handed it to Draco.

"Wow." Draco smiled, as he ran his fingers along the material. He had loads of cashmere back in Malfoy Manor, but certainly not in this wonderful color and _certainly _without the maddening scent of Harry's cologne. "I love it."

"Yeah?" A grin reappeared on Harry's face. "You can have it."

Draco started. "Oh, no – you take it-"

"Take it," Harry insisted, grinning. "Please."

Draco looked back and forth between the jumper and the raven-haired perplexedly. "Seriously – Harry, thanks, but-"

"I don't wear it, okay?" Harry closed his wardrobe shut and fell onto his bed. "It'd look good on you. Just take it."

Draco's heart gave a flutter, but he chalked it off as nerves. It must be nerves. Just a really tough day. Even so, he couldn't stop clutching the shirt to his chest and smelling the sweetness of its odor every few minutes for the rest of the evening. He wanted to rip off his school blouse and tie and snuggle into the jumper, but for some unknown reason the fear of losing the scent alarmed him.

For one, something was beginning to feel very, _very _wrong.

…

Lavender and Pansy were distant the rest of the week. The only way of communicating was by clandestine glares from both parties. He hated fighting, hated conflicts and wars, but he was to trudge through the situation albeit his reluctance. He knew Pansy would come running back to him, only this time it took strangely long.

Saturday had finally arrived, much to the relief of the young Malfoy. It meant getting away from Hogwarts for a couple of days, even with his parents as companions. The key advantage was having Harry around for two entire days. On Saturday morning Draco ran out to the porch of their Manor, trepidation swimming heavily in his stomach, to meet Harry. He carried an elegant black bag stuffed with clothes for the weekend and wore the same mischievous cynical grin as always. In fact it remained on his face for their entire journey, even as Lucius Malfoy extended his hand to greet the boy. Mirth never left those deep green pools.

The gathering went perfectly well. Everyone was positively charmed by the Malfoy radiance amongst all others, as always. A few drinks of a fancy cocktail had Harry talking politely with the evening's guests, as Draco chatted up Lucius's business partners skillfully. Socializing in that domain wasn't as easy, of course, but it turned out pleasant nevertheless.

They arrived at the hotel in time for dinner and decided it would be best to dine at a restaurant. As Harry disappeared in their hotel room, Narcissa beckoned Draco closer, "Why didn't you bring Pansy?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair jerkily. "I thought you'd want to meet someone else after all this time."

"Yes, well," Narcissa glanced at the door through which Harry left, "he's charming. But I thought you and Pansy-"

"No, Mum. Pansy and I were always just friends. Even so, I can't keep her company every single day, can I? Only girls and girls…"

"Of course, honey." She flicked her blonde hair back and straightened visibly. "Well, how do I look?"

"Fabulous, Mother. Young to pass for my sister," he grinned.

Harry was indeed charming all throughout the evening. He smiled, shook hands with guests, spoke in polite tones and acted a real gentleman before Draco's parents. The blond watched him with clandestine fascination. He had never seen him so… human and _nice_. It seemed now that he was out of the childish surroundings of Hogwarts Academy - the teenager drama axis of Edinburgh - and out into the adult seriousness, he was somehow livelier, passionate, alive. Someone lighter. Draco wondered curiously whether it's what he was really yearning for – an independent lifestyle of a responsible adult. Perhaps the Hogwarts walls were an imprisonment, not a blessing.

They arrived at the restaurant at half-past eight, smartly dressed and combed. Narcissa, the only woman accompanying them, was absolutely stunning in her dark purple evening dress and velvet high-heels. It seemed, as the four of them passed – everybody turned to stare. They settled at a table, as servants circled fussily about them, pulling out chairs and taking in orders.

"So, Harry," Narcissa said, after the wine had been brought. "You're in the same year as Draco, I believe?"

"Yes," Harry smiled genuinely.

"What subjects do you take?" She continued, picking up her glass of wine.

Harry took a breath and recited with practiced ease, "Chemistry, Biology and Math, all Higher. Physics, English and Psychology Standard."

Lucius lifted his gaze from his Menu and lifted an elegant brow. Narcissa's expression was surprised. "What are you planning to do in the future, Harry?"

"Doctor," Draco said with a smile. Harry shot him a grateful glance.

"Plastic Surgeon or Gynecologist," Harry explained. "I want to study Medicine."

Lucius and Narcissa looked impressed. She awarded the black-haired boy with a wide smile, "That's interesting. I suppose you have to be ambitious to succeed."

Harry chuckled with a bright grin. Draco felt his heart flip over in his chest. Too much wine. _Too much wine. _He placed his glass down and tore his gaze away from Harry's face.

"I guess. It's a hard job. It takes no less than ten years to get the proper education."

Narcissa nodded, sipping her wine. "Are your parents also Doctors?"

Draco's eyes flickered to Harry again. He was curious to hear, he'd never actually asked before. Harry averted his eyes, shaking his hair off of his cheeks jerkily. Narcissa's brows furrowed, as Lucius inspected him clinically. Silence reigned for a few moments. Then, Harry cleared his throat and spoke calmly, "I don't – have parents."

Narcissa covered her surprise with a cough, as Lucius raised his brows in a cold-hearted manner. Draco held onto his wine-glass desperately. He – he _never _told him. _Never. _He spoke of his family weirdly at times. But he _never _said that he was an orphan. _Never! _

"I – excuse me," Narcissa recovered gracefully.

"Who are your guardians?" Lucius's voice warmed a degree at Harry's confession.

"My uncle and aunt," Harry flicked his hair away from his face, an act of irritation, Draco noted.

"He's a transfer student, on a scholarship," Draco commented, his voice cold. Harry's expression sagged.

Narcissa smiled warmly. "Well, that's wonderful. Hogwarts gives great scholarships to outstanding students." Lucius nodded gravely. If he disliked the boy, he didn't let on. He acted perfectly amicable with the black-haired boy. Soon the theme of the conversation turned to politics – Lucius' favorite subject.

The evening went on smoothly, with pleasant conversations and enjoyable food. But Draco's mind kept coming back to Harry's words, as anger and sorrow, a sick sense of betrayal pooled in the pit of his stomach. He was almost glad to get out of the restaurant. He wanted to think. So when the empty dessert plates were taken away and the bill was signed, Draco shrugged on his jacket and bounced out of the door. Narcissa and Lucius were so _nice _it was impossible to listen, while Harry acted like nothing happened. Like he hadn't revealed a secret he's been hiding from Draco.

He was silent all the way back to the hotel, albeit Narcissa's constant questions and brilliantly white smiles. Once inside the hotel room, he swung his jacket off, his blouse and dress shoes away and walked into the shower. He spent about half-an-hour bathing, scrubbing all anger out of himself and relaxing under the hot stream of water. But even the warmness of the shower couldn't wash away the regret. He walked out of the bathroom in a pair of boxers, toweling his blond locks. Harry sat at the marble windowsill, watching the scenery out of an open window. He turned around and fixed the blond with a concerned look.

"What's wrong? You're all stressed."

Draco stared disbelievingly. "You know what's stressing me."

Harry twisted in his seat fully to frown up at Draco. "What?"

Draco sighed, trying to suppress the scratching sorrow in his chest. He turned away and folded the towel accurately. "You're – I didn't know you didn't have parents."

Harry's face remained unaltered from his accusation. But his eyes darkened. "So?"

"Well, you never _told _me!"

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again. Speechlessly, he averted his sharp gaze.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What's that talk about your aunt and uncle harassing you? And your family not being generous? Always joking?"

Harry's jaw clenched but he stayed seated, looking downwards. "I knew you'd ask someday."

"It was my Mother who asked," Draco commented coldly.

"It's _hard, _okay? It's fucking-" His breath hitched and he sighed nervously. "It's complicated."

Draco waited, silent. Seconds ticked by.

"I don't – fuck." He stood up and ran a hand through his thick unruly hair. "I don't want to talk about it."

Draco leveled him with a glare, so fierce, Harry actually flinched. "Then why did you talk to my _Mother _about it, but not me?"

"I did not do such thing!"

Draco's hands clenched into fists. His curiosity was winning hands down over practicalities and transforming into rage. "Still, I guess if I asked, you wouldn't have told me anyway-"

"You know nothing! _Nothing!" _Harry repeated intensely. _"_Yes, they're dead. Murdered, in fact." His voice broke and he looked like he was fighting tears, while the corners of his eyes leaked with the salty moisture. He regained his composure by inhaling deeply several times. His voice returned in a hiss. "I – a child of ten fucking years old – was accused of murdering them! Stabbing my own _parents _to death! Killing them with my own _fucking_ hands!"

Draco gaped silently, his grey eyes wide open.

"I have lost both my parents and I was fucking accused of _murder!" _

Draco opened his mouth to say something, to stop this _insanity _show before him-

But now Harry's words came in uncontrollable sobs. "I never did it - I fucking _loved _them! I-"

And he was crying. The strong Harry Potter, the brave, just and strong man Draco got to know during these few weeks, was weeping his heart out. It was by instinct that Draco reached out and pulled the raven-haired into a tight hug, literally hauling him into a comforting embrace, where he stood clutching Draco's back desperately. He could feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of his back. Although not a sadist, the blond actually found it rather comforting.

They stood still for a very long time; Harry's sobs filling the emptiness in Draco's gut. Draco continually muttered soothing phrases into Harry's black hair.

"It's okay. Hush now," Draco hugged him even tighter. "It's alright. Harry. Harry…" Harry. Harry. Harry. He could have said it a thousand times without hesitation.

Harry's sobs died out and he pulled back awkwardly. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from tears. "God, I'm such a damn-"

"Shh," Draco squeezed his shoulder almost painfully. "Don't say that."

Harry spun around, facing the windows, his back to Draco. He was wiping his eyes hastily, anxious with his gestures. "Sorry."

Draco started. "Don't be. I should be."

Harry leaned onto the window frame and stood completely immobile, silent.

"Harry."

He didn't answer. His breathing was regained, but his face was solemn, his expression – forlorn.

"Let's go to sleep, Harry," Draco called again. He reached for his shoulder, squeezed it in a reassuring gesture. Not awaiting a reply, he crawled under his covers and settled on his pillow uncomfortably. He knew Harry needed some time to himself. Isolation for a couple of private moments. Draco pretended to sleep, while Harry retreated into his little personal cavern of thoughts. After an everlasting moment, Draco heard the bathroom door close and the shower taps switched on. He lay in bed, motionless, silently digesting the hazardous scene of minutes before.

Twenty minutes passed. Harry returned from the shower with only his pajama bottoms on, his hair and chest glimmering with watery crystals as he strolled around the room, toweling his hair. Draco's breath caught in his throat and he had to choke down the knot in his chest from the unexpected sight. Harry, thank God, stayed oblivious. But Draco couldn't figure out what it was.

Harry crawled into the second double bed beside Draco's one and dimmed the lights. The room faded into total darkness. For endless minutes – or were they hours? – Draco couldn't fall asleep. As horrible as it seemed, he was stuck on the horrific sensation he'd obtained on seeing his classmate half-naked. With great terror, he realized that he couldn't name the feeling precisely. He couldn't say it aloud. He didn't know what it was. And, more importantly, why on Earth was it bothering him so much.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews, they really mean a lot to me. Don't forget to comment!

I would like to correct a mistake, noted by **Onshuu and Shigatsu**: I meant to make Hogwarts an International School, where they prepare for the IB Diploma (students have 6 subjects, 3 of Higher level and 3 of Standard) However I had also mentioned A-levels, which I meant to correct, but forgot to. Thank you for pointing it out!

Now, on with the story. Again, sorry for any misspellings, I typed quickly to get it posted today.

…

Insufferably polite and arrogant.

That's what Lucius classified Harry as, the next morning at breakfast. The boy had excused himself to the bathroom for a couple of moments and Lucius benefited from his absence to point out his views. Narcissa scoffed at his affirmation, while Draco grinded his teeth in anger. So far from what he thought, his Father actually disliked the boy, yet acted the sweetest serpent. Hypocritical, of course, but he should have guessed. Lucius Malfoy rarely respected a soul for what it was, but treasured its financial value. It was a two-dimensional interest.

Harry had been a puzzle the following morning. He was amicable, but something had changed. As he returned from his shower, he collapsed onto the bed, his loosely hung towel barely covering the perfectly smooth tan flesh of his waist. The morning sunlight poured into the room and spilt over his muscular back, playing with Draco's mind treacherously. The strong arms and graceful hands clutched the bed sheets lazily, as a sigh escaped Harry's rosy lips. His body shifted entirely and he caught Draco's gaze and secured it with a hasty smile.

Draco found himself paying attention to the smallest details of Harry's physique and anatomy. The way he moved. The way shadows danced on his masculine chest when he breathed. The way his impassive green eyes flickered over his surroundings with cynical distaste. The way his tone changed when he spoke to people - from polite courtesy to pure sarcasm. Draco had emancipated his curiosity free, inquisitive of the solution to the puzzle of Harry's personality.

Harry was silent at breakfast, lost in his thoughts by the looks of it. He was quiet during their conversation during the walk back to their rooms along the hotel terraces. He only spoke when the two of them left Lucius and Narcissa at the hotel, and decided to go for a walk around the city. Their flight was later in the day and they had some time to spare.

"Where are you planning to go to University?" Harry asked, as they made their way along the road to Hyde Park.

Draco blinked at him owlishly. It was probably the first time Harry had interested himself in Draco's affairs. "I'm actually thinking of London. Maybe King's College. Or Imperial." He shrugged. "My dad went on about Oxford, but it's just not my sort of thing." He looked around, inhaling deeply. "I love the city. I'm tired of living in the outskirts, in a small village."

Harry grinned foolishly. "I understand you perfectly well."

"What about you?" He looked at Harry, who walked beside him at a steady pace. "Where are you off to after Hogwarts?"

"London too, I guess. If I get my scholarship, then London or New Haven. If I don't, then I'm taking a gap-year and saving up money and either staying in Edinburgh or trying to get in somewhere else in England."

Draco's brows shot up. "You know, any University will take you after Hogwarts. Especially with your results…"

Harry looked up at the sky, his hair dropping away from his face. A shadow of a scar glided along his cheek, down to his neck. Another scar decorated his front, in a peculiar shape of a lightning bolt. When he saw Draco staring, he tilted his head forward and shook his hair back in place.

"-a-after Hogwarts," Draco repeated absent mindedly, still staring.

Harry hesitated, as he gazed back into Draco's grey orbs, looking as though he was caught stealing.

"True." Harry murmured softly.

Well. Harry possessed no intention of revealing his secrets, Draco concluded. He was a little closet full of secrets and he knew how to preserve them. He was reluctant to open up and nothing, it seemed, would force him into speaking aloud. He was a riddle without a logical solution.

Draco couldn't sleep well that night. He would toss and turn, until he could no longer feel the fatigue that plagued him all afternoon. He clambered out of bed and onto the roof, with a pack of cigarettes, a pencil and his album. Illuminated by the unearthly glow of the moon, Draco began drawing, his pencil scratching against the rough aquarelle paper beneath his palms. He was entirely aware of what he was sketching, but perfected the image nonetheless. Harry's face and neck, as he leaned over a windowsill – the exact expression he wore the night of their argument. Another image of the raven-haired in a loose towel positioned low on his waist, as he stood alone. Harry's back, Harry's strong arms, his absolutely spotless skin…

The pictures were of perfect resemblance, but as Draco stared down at the two drawings, fear and doubt clouded over him. They were too beautiful. Harry was too beautiful. The images of him in reality were vivid in his mind. Everything about him fascinated Draco. It angered him that he didn't understand the boy, the enigmatic beauty that a mask of arrogance and hatred concealed so efficiently. The urge to find out more, to get to his core frightened him.

But what scared him most was the fact that he couldn't get himself to say aloud the exact feeling he suffered for Harry.

Having no desire to endure his insomnia, Draco climbed off the roof and walked languidly out of his room, heading downstairs, to the library. The grand staircase that led to the Entrance Hall traversed all floors, including his Parents' bedroom and his Father's study – the place he avoided at all costs. Ever since first grade, Draco would try to skid past unnoticed, fearing the place like an infection. It was a tradition the blond hadn't yet learnt to forego each time he passed the damned corridor.

Draco scanned his library unhurriedly, as he entered the large Hall. His footsteps echoed dully against the walls as he meandered around bookstands and endless shelves, but he was entirely sure the Manor was fast asleep to care one bit. The golden ornaments on each shelf winked brightly and the dim chandelier lights danced along the polished tile surface, but they couldn't possibly outshine the luster of the computer screen in a far corner of the Hall. Draco squinted at it and ceased his research. Strange; this computer never worked before.

Draco placed the novel he had found back on its shelf and approached the desk. Objects such as pens and folders that loaded the drawers, lay scattered on the surface of the table, as though someone has been rummaging through their contents. The chair was pushed back and the computer screen shone ridiculously bright for such late evening. Or early morning, actually.

Nothing else in the library, however, suggested that someone has been here before Draco. The blond wondered perplexedly whether someone has heard him coming and rushed away, fearing his exposure. Every servant was aware of the horror of Lucius's wrath, especially when it concerned personal objects or business files, hence it would be far from beneficial for any worker to interfere and meddle among Lucius's possessions.

Seating himself on the armchair opposite the computer, Draco stared at the screen. The system was logged onto Lucius Malfoy's name, the password represented by a long series of incomprehensible dots.

"Strange," Draco muttered quietly.

Right among his Documents stood a folder named "DLM". The blond supposed it was his initials and questioned himself whether it would be fair to invade his Father's privacy. His hand shook as he placed it on the mouse; then he clicked twice. Files poured onto the screen, all named "inheritance", "Lucius Corporation Contract" or "Malfoy Company". Did his Father plan to award Draco with the entire corporation when he turned eighteen? Flattered, but confused, Draco rolled down the list.

"Harry James Potter" said the next folder. His mind raced in flawed synchronization with the increasing beat of his heart. What did Harry have to do with Lucius's countless companies? Draco hesitated. This was beyond strange. Could Lucius ever see that he's entered his confidentiality like this? Could-

And then the screen shifted and the system blocked him out. Hands shaking, Draco clicked incessantly, demanding repetitive entry. He cursed quietly – a sound filled with so much anger and desperation, it could be compared to a hiss.

"Come on!" Draco panted.

But the screen remained unaltered, requesting a username and password that Draco never wanted as much as he did now. He needed to know. The folder contained at least a dozen large files of information. Why would Lucius need information on Harry? Lucius was prone to be wary around his business partners, evidently, and collected as much details about their affairs; but why would he require a report on Harry? A person he'd only seen once in his life? A friend of Draco's?

Somewhere above, the lights went on and a door opened. Draco froze, as his eyes flickered to his watch: it was three in the morning. None of the workers entered the manor before Narcissa opened the doors, and that was only at six. Panic seized his mind in a cold grasp and his thoughts rushed to his Father.

He pressed the largest button on the machine and slipped out of the chair. His fingers were shaking and he could feel his face blanching. The screen twitched and dove into darkness, as Draco tiptoed to the entrance. Somewhere above, steps echoed against the marble staircase. Draco's heart jumped to his throat and he knelt behind a bookcase, breathing deeply. He could not imagine the fury his Father would be in if he found Draco's presence in the library at a time of his system being hacked.

A figure appeared at the entrance and stood still for a few quiet seconds. Then the lights went off and the library submerged into darkness, the only source of illumination being the lamps in the corridor. Those too soon went out, as the figure stalked out of the library. Draco buried his forehead in his slightly trembling palms and let out a sigh.

The figure was his mother.

…

Harry asked Pansy to the Ball the following morning, just like Draco requested a few days ago. For some peculiar reason it didn't reassure him, nor did it delight him as much as it should have. His essential aim was to persuade Harry into going out with Pansy when they began talking. Not to become friends. Certainly not to feel a sinking disappointment when Pansy announced her happiness, rushing to him with her well-prepared arsenal of excuses.

"Harry's my partner for Spring Ball!" Pansy squealed, as she kneeled by Draco's chair in the cafeteria.

"I know," Draco replied dryly.

Her smile was brilliant. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you _so-so much!"

Draco raised a brow.

"Draco, listen, I apologize for – well, saying silly things last week, but I really thought you were-"

"I promised I would make him ask you out. And I did." Draco said, a sick sense of smugness concealing his disgust. "Even if it meant spending some time with him."

Pansy nodded enthusiastically. "I know. Thank you, Draco. It means so much to me."

Pansy sat next to him during all the classes that day, babbling uncontrollably. Lavender hadn't apologized, but was as respectful and kind as usual, gossiping and sniping every now and then. Classes passed fairly quickly. He and Harry sat next to each other at Math and pretended to work, while whispering and laughing. He seemed to have forgotten all about their quarrel. Or at least pretended not to mind.

All was back to normal. Except for Draco's heart that raced and jumped like a drunken athlete in his chest each time he locked gazes with Harry. Whenever he caught Harry looking his way. Whenever the raven-haired smiled genuinely in his direction. No, remotely normal for a Malfoy.

Unlike his Father, Draco had acquired a somewhat exceptional gift of circumnavigating normal behavior. Malfoys rarely had obsessions; even more infrequently had they had friends – this was a well-known fact. He had also learnt that having a name so significant in the political and financial hierarchy of his country had both recompenses and inconveniences. This luxurious package included money and power and possibilities very few could ever afford, but it demanded actions and sacrifices to keep up to the status. Unfortunately 'fame', 'social status' and 'money' were factors Lucius could never disregard – they were factors on which their family was based.

The Malfoys were sophisticated figures of old wealth. They were not obsessive freaks that longed after unresolved mysteries. Straight forward and blunt were their demands; sly and elegant were their techniques.

But Draco was reluctant to let go. It has been almost three weeks since their first conversation with Harry, and the neurotic attitude towards their recently developed friendship had blossomed into an abnormal obsession. The mania of all unknown, curiosity – all that explained the raging pace of his heartbeat, the hitch of his breath as he watched Harry-

A knock alerted him. The blond lifted his head and blinked several times. Dylan stood at his door, gripping the handle nervously.

"Draco, have you been thinking about the organization of the Ball?"

"What?"

Dylan seated himself on Draco's desk, and spelled out the words slowly, "Have you been thinking about the Ball?"

"That," Draco sighed exasperatedly, "is exactly what I'm doing right now. I'm about to order the Menus and the decorations." He settled for the dark red drapes and maroon sheets and golden cutlery with a rich oriental buffet. About two hundred people were attending and it was crucial to make the evening as close to perfect as possible.

Dylan nodded hurriedly, "You chose Edinburgh Palace?"

"No, our sports gym."

"What!" Dylan's eyes rounded comically.

"'My God, Dylan, do you know what a joke is? Of course I chose the Palace, it's a school tradition after all," Draco frowned.

"All right. Well, when you've ordered them, could you contact me with the info? I need to know how many tickets we've sold," said Dylan, heading for the door. "Oh, and make sure we've donated some profit to charity." Dylan chewed on his lip for some time before shrugging jerkily and walking away. "See you later!"

"Bye, Dylan," Draco called, glaring at his retreating back.

The blond sighed again and leaned back in his seat. It was four in the afternoon and he was fully aware that while the sun was shining brightly through the shutters and birds were singing in the school park, he was stuck in the Prefect's office, working. Flicking through the decorations catalogue, Draco couldn't help but picture Pansy and Harry, dressed up and gorgeous – sitting together in the beautifully ornamented Hall, sipping expensive champagne and chatting intimately. Colorful pages flickered before his eyes, endless images and pictures of previous balls, but nothing could erase the mind-blowing figure of the raven-haired boy, holding his best friend as they waltzed around in circles-

"Draco?"

The blond blinked himself awake. "Huh?"

Harry entered the room, looking around curiously. "Hey."

Draco blinked again, as the image of Pansy in a marvelous dress accompanied by a similarly dazzling Potter dissipated into the realistic figure of his companion. Really, people _had _to warn before barging in.

"Hey," Draco echoed weakly, staring at the raven-haired. He had never noticed before how his tan skin contrasted deliciously with the white blouse. Or how his rolled-up sleeves revealed a pair of strong masculine arms that – it seemed – could literally sweep people off their feet, as mentioned incessantly in novels.

"You all right?" Harry asked, his voice confirming his lack of interest and no actual trace of concern, as usual, only indifference. But Draco didn't care. Harry's smile was enough. Typically, his lips quirked up in silent mockery, his eyes twinkling with laughter, suggesting superiority. Draco identified this technique as a defensive mechanism before, but Harry was so realistic with his stupid charade of scorn and cynicism that now Draco was even more confused than ever.

No matter how hard he tried to sneak into Harry's mind, he failed to discover more of the boy's past. He was no telepath to do that: Harry had to recount everything on his own. But with every minute spent together, Draco was even more persuaded of Harry's secrecy – he was a tangle of secrets, safely locked and stored away into the darkest closets of his past. He was a man of horrible personality and a rotten character, Draco knew, but there was something – this little _something – _that had Draco completely and absolutely hooked.

Hooked, obsessed, and infatuated – every abnormal feeling existing in the world. He had never felt like this for a girl ora friend. It was…it was…

Suddenly everything fell into place, as though bits of a jigsaw puzzle coming together. _God, _how obvious was it? It's been there all along, glaring in his face, while Draco wallowed in self-doubt and pretended not to notice. He liked Harry. He _liked _Harry. He was obsessed with him, with everything he did and everything he was. He fancied him lot more than a friend. And even more than that.

He liked him. He liked him! _He liked him!_

A mantra he could have repeated a thousand times. And would repeat a lot more, for the revelation was nothing but relief. He knew at last. He finally knew what he wanted.

And it was Harry.

...

The next day after school, Draco found himself in the Prefects' Office once again. Daydreaming and trying desperately to concentrate on work, but failing miserably. He was thinking about a certain raven-haired, who plagued his mind ever since he had the joy of epiphany the day before. Pansy knocked and entered, looking somewhat indecisive. Draco gave a her a smile and sat back in his chair.

"Panse? What is it?"

"Listen, I wanted to thank you for Harry," said Pansy, her eyes wandering to Draco's computer and messy desk, "but I didn't know how…then I realized you still – well, you didn't have a date, still-"

Draco straightened his posture, "Panse, if you wanted-"

"No, wait. I know you wanted to find someone outside school and I know you said you didn't want anyone's help – but I couldn't help myself-"

"Typically," Draco regarded Pansy with patience.

"-and I found the sweetest girl _ever, _you'll absolutely adore her."

Draco smiled. "Pansy, honestly-"

"I promise, Draco, you'll love her. She's pretty, smart, has the perfect body – oh and she's interested in arts!"

Draco raised his brows, speechless.

"Just a date," Pansy pleaded. "Actually, we could do a double date," she suggested innocently, "you and Catlyn, and me and Harry?"

Draco's heart jumped to his throat. "You and Harry?"

Pansy frowned, "Yeah. He asked me to the Ball."

Draco's vision swam.

"Draco? Are you alright?"

"Yes," he cleared his mind swiftly. "Yes, Panse, I am. Just not sure about the whole double-date thing. I'll tell you later, okay? I have some work to complete."

With those words he stood up and headed for the printer where he pretended to collect sheets and store them into folders. It was a pointless exercise for the sheets contained no useful information and his hands shook so hard, for some unknown reason that the paper fell out of the folders. Pansy bit her lip and exited the office, while Draco fell onto the rug beneath his desk and closed his eyes. He had to concentrate. Mentions of Harry didn't help much, especially coming from Pansy. Following this tempo, Pansy would soon ask the raven-haired to marry her.

A surge of jealousy spiraled down his spine with electric force. Draco smiled as he imagined Harry's smirk. His forest-green eyes, his strong hands…

The clock struck five and Draco jumped up in surprise. He really had to concentrate. Eliminating images of Potter from his thoughts, Draco opened his catalogue and began working.

The next morning McGonagall and Dumbledore received Draco's report about Spring Ball. Apart from McGonagall's disapproving glance at his crumpled shirt and Dumbledore's embarrassing comments about the excellence of Draco's choice of decorations – the morning remained blessedly uneventful. So caught up in the organization, Draco didn't see Harry the entire morning. Pansy was there alright – nagging him about the double date idea all along.

"Come _on, _Draco, it'll be so much fun!"

_Please shut up, Pansy. _

"Draco, have you decided whether you'd be meeting your soul-mate yet?"

_Seriously. Shut up. _

"Aren't you curious to meet her? Come on," insisted Pansy.

Draco sighed patiently. "Right now – no. I'm too busy."

Pansy placed her bag onto the library table, just next to Harry's stacks of books. He lifted his head inquiringly and she sent him a dazzling grin. "Harry, don't you think he should just _go_?"

"Pansy, _leave it._ Okay? I'm not interested," Draco snapped, embarrassed to look at the raven-haired. The latter stared him down with infinite mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Pansy's brows shot up. "Whoa! Keep saying that and we'll consider you _gay_!"

Pansy was giggling foolishly. Draco's insides froze, as his eyes flickered to Harry. The latter wore a large grin, directed at the blond. His eyes were somewhat curious, but…there was something incomprehensible in them. Something definitely positive.

"Very funny," Draco sneered at her, quickly recovering. "Keep saying that and I won't go anywhere."

"Fine, fine, heterosexual," Pansy flooded with giggles again. "Are you guys coming to the cafeteria?"

"Go on, we'll catch up with you," Draco replied, secretly wishing she'd leave already. He knew she wouldn't protest in front of her crush.

"Okay, I'll see you there," she winked and sauntered out off the library, swaying her hips girlishly. Draco noted with pleasure that Harry's gaze didn't follow her.

"So, what's this business with the new girl?" Harry asked, a smirk coloring his tan face.

"Oh, not you too…" Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy found me my 'soul-mate'."

Harry lifted an elegant brow. Draco couldn't help but notice how adorable he looked in his school uniform – his hair typically messy and his usual smirk in place. "Sounds serious."

"Oh, shut up," Draco grinned involuntarily. "She's gone crazy with the whole idea. It's a date. Apparently you have to attend too."

"I wouldn't ever miss it. Never seen you flirt," Harry smirked.

Draco tried to suppress his smile. "Let's leave it that way."

He didn't really mean it. As in, he _really _didn't.

"So you're coming tonight then?"

Draco gaped. "Are you seriously going?"

"Yes, plus your Pansy already asked me to play along with the plan. Quite sly, really."

Draco's mouth opened wider. "You two jerks!"

Harry laughed wholeheartedly. A breath taking sight. "Nice to meet you."

Draco was left speechless, hearing his laughter – deep and velvety…

"Draco? You alright?"

"Yes!" Draco blinked awake. This has been happening way too often lately. "Yes, I'm perfect. I'll go."

Harry continued laughing. "Go where? To the date?"

"Yeah." Draco blinked several times to shake himself clear of highly distracting thoughts. "Yeah, I'll go."

…

The aim was to concentrate on the girl Pansy brought along. What was her name again? Katherine? Katrina? Cassy?

_Damn it._

The four of them were sitting in a bar downtown, while a maddening hotness reigned outside. It was chilly indoors and the beer was perfectly cool. Football fans were gathering slowly around the screen to watch the Manchester United against Liverpool game, awaiting seven-thirty. The girl sitting opposite Draco was a tall, slender and highly attractive brunette, with an intelligent expression and large brown eyes that watched the blond with utter fascination.

"So, Draco, you draw don't you?"

Draco flinched. "Pardon?"

The brunette smiled politely. "You draw, don't you?"

"Yeah."

Pansy stared at the pair awkwardly. The conversation wasn't progressing much. "In fact, Catlyn, Draco has tones of albums."

_Catlyn! That's right._

"Draco has finished one of the most prestigious Art Schools in Edinburgh," Pansy looked at the blond proudly. "And Catlyn is planning to become an interior Designer. Isn't that intriguing?"

"Absolutely," Draco smiled at her. She melted under his gaze. "So what school do you go to?"

"Le Chat, just a public school."

Needless to say, it was a pointless conversation. Harry looked bored, listening to Pansy's speach and taking occasional gulps of his beer. He caught his eye and both seemed to agree wordlessly that they couldn't have found a pair of more tiresome ladies to go out with. A smile crept onto the blonde's face.

"Who's up for a beer-chugging contest?" He exclaimed spontaneously, interrupting Catlyn rudely. She regarded him with faint distaste.

Harry's face transformed into a smirk as he met Draco's enthusiastic stare. "I sure am."

"I'm not particularly fond of beer, actually," Catlyn remarked in a small voice. Pansy and she exchanged glances that expressed pure shock.

"Well," Pansy hesitated, "I can try."

"Great," Draco snapped his fingers at the waitress who gave him a glare in response. "Seven more beers. Catlyn, you've got to try."

Flattered by his attention, she fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously. "Well, I don't know… I guess I _could_ try…"

"You're in," Draco grinned.

And so it began.

It was nine o'clock, when the match ended and the hazardous chaos began in the pub. Catlyn and Pansy left before the match even started, engaged in a hissing conversation as they stepped out of the pub, looking somewhat disappointed. The screen blurred before Draco's eyes and the crowd was so thick the waitress couldn't possibly take a step away from the bar, leaving their table stacked with empty bottles of beer. Harry was seated on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions and Draco slid down in his wooden chair, his legs weak. Six bottles of beer later and the School Prefect had difficulty pronouncing simple words right.

Draco tried not to concentrate too much on the way Harry's lips surrounded the sides of his glass of beer, or the way his tongue sneaked out of its cavern to lick the drink from beneath his lips occasionally. He recounted something in his velvety deep voice, something Draco could barely hear from the pounding of his heart that echoed throughout his body. He was pretty sure the entire café was aware of his flushing face, as he stole another glance at his companion-

Harry tried to catch Draco's attention by waving his hand. "Draco?"

Draco turned to Harry and suddenly noticed that the latter was watching him attentively, without averting his eyes. A blush blossomed on Draco's cheeks. "What?"

"Nothing, just thinking," Harry's smile was mocking again. "Either you were genuinely not interested in that girl… or you simply suck at flirting."

Draco lowered his voice, "Haven't heard you talking properly to Pansy either."

"It's because we only talk about you," Harry's eyes twinkled with laughter.

Draco's world swayed. "W-what?"

"Well, from what she tells me you're almost intimately involved. Pretty much all of her stories consist of you two doing something together…"

"We're not intimately involved," protested Draco.

"I wouldn't care, really, I'm not marrying her. Just a Ball date."

"I don't even fancy her – _what _are you talking about?" Draco's cheeks grew red. "What exactly did she tell you?"

"Hey, I didn't say anything. Just supposing."

The suggestion of Harry actually caring about Draco's involvement with anybody and his love life, which quite frankly remained unaltered from his unsuccessful relationship last summer, was a maddening thought. What if he cared? What if he felt the same way? He absolutely had to tell Harry how he felt. At least to find out if his feelings were returned.

"I don't know what she told you, but we're not involved, we're not dating and we're definitely not in a relationship." Draco grinned, "I'm free as a bird!"

Harry's gaze turned cynical again, "You're so drunk."

"Am not," the blond shook his head heavily, "honestly."

"You are, Draco," Harry's voice was velvety again, arousing, deep-

"All right, maybe," Draco leaned closer to the raven-haired and Harry's smile grew wider. This was surely a positive sign. "I need to tell you something."

Harry raised a brow and watched him struggle with his words for a moment. "Ok. Go on," he encouraged.

Draco opened his mouth to say it, but no words came out. Trepidation, anxiety pooled in his stomach, making butterflies swirl in his chest and his mind cloud over with worry. The phrase circled in his thoughts, he only had to voice it out.

He needed to tell Harry. It was something to figure out together. Harry had shown strange signs of attention towards Draco, consequently – there had to be _something. _It was worth trying, plus, he knew for sure that Harry was wise enough to tell him what to do next. He was always successful at solving problems. Maybe together they would find a solution – maybe, after all, Harry felt the same way. Who knew?

There was only one way to find out.

"We're friends right?" Draco began, shoving his hands into his pockets, for they were shaking violently.

"Of course," Harry kept his gaze steady. Encouraging.

"Well, even though you don't tell me much about yourself…your past is kind of a mystery," Draco gave a bitter chuckle.

Harry's voice suddenly turned cold, "It's not a mystery. Just not important enough to be mentioned."

"Well, it's important to me," Draco interrupted, frowning. Typically Harry never admitted to hiding his past.

"Listen, it's really not important to me. I don't want to remember anything, because I promised myself I'll start anew when I got accepted to Hogwarts. I'll cut the crap out of my life and live differently." Harry's voice softened slightly. "Don't try to bring up the topic, Draco, unless you want to hear another decline."

"But why?" Draco's voice sounded alien to himself. He noted fearfully that he had drunk too much.

"Because – because it's my life and my choice. I don't want anyone intruding-"

"But I care," Draco insisted, frowning deeply. "I care, Harry."

Harry's gaze turned quizzical. "Why?"

"Because I like you," he blurted it out. He didn't mean to, but it sort of…well, came out.

Harry regarded him suspiciously for a long time. For Draco's rapidly beating heart it seemed like centuries passed without any response, but his watch ticked steadily for only several dozens of seconds. Then came the usual sardonic reply, "People generally like their friends."

"I meant more than a friend."

Despite the clatter of glasses at the bar, the buzz of the crowd in front of the screen and the noise within the pub, silence reigned over the couple sitting in the corner. Draco's breath caught in his throat. His heart was raging inside his chest, threatening to jump out any second. The blond felt like crawling out of his skin, for every inch of him throbbed with anxiety.

Harry's face looked stricken, as if he had watched the world collapse before his beautiful emerald eyes. His gaze was transfixed upon Draco's face, disbelieving. He seemed to come to a conclusion, but his frown and confusion intensified.

"You're drunk."

Draco released a breath he's been holding and slowly shook his head. "No. I mean it." Once he began, he realized he couldn't stop talking. "I didn't know what it was at first, I was confused and frightened, but then I figured I was just falling hard for you."

Harry's expression hadn't altered. He looked taken aback, shocked, his eyes darting between Draco's.

"And I understood the feeling at last and knew I had to tell you. I hadn't come to grips with it yet, but I guess it's alright-"

"Alright?" Harry's voice was disbelieving. "_Alright?" _

Draco gulped awkwardly. "Well, not exactly _alright, _but-"

"What are you talking about? It's not alright!"

Draco blinked and swallowed again. Somehow, he could feel bitterness in his mouth. He stuttered – an action very unlike Malfoy's typical attitude. "Well…I…I…"

"Having attractions to men is…that's fucking twisted," Harry hissed, his eyes gleaming darkly. "And I thought…fucking hell, Malfoy, that's why you started talking to me, inviting me over-"

Panic mounted in Draco's chest. "No, Harry, it's not like that – I only realized-"

His words died down as he watched Harry rise to his feet, eyes narrowed as he glared down at the blond. "I thought you genuinely cared – fuck, I thought I'd learn to care back…" Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Harry, wait, I do care, genuinely, honestly! That's why-"

"Not everybody wants to fuck you, Malfoy, no matter how insanely popular you are, you know."

"I don't _want _to fuck, Harry – I just want you to know-"

"I don't want to know, alright? I don't…I don't care." Harry's words stung, like a vicious slap.

"Harry, please! Wait!" Draco pleaded, trying to catch the raven-haired by his wrist.

"Don't fucking touch me," Harry hissed with a spiteful glare. Snatching his hand out of Draco's gentle grasp, he stormed out of the pub.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: For all my wonderful reviewers, thank you!! Here's another chapter. Sorry for any misspellings, no time for checks… __Enjoy, review!_

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Destiny has a funny way of leading us through life, stumbling too often over barriers of troubles and difficulties, and flowing too swiftly through the sweetness of existence. We acknowledge lust, pain, failures and glory and with it experiences that change our perception of the world. Wisdom and understanding is the result of this experience, some might suppose, but no matter how well we learn our lesson, we are bound to make mistakes. We're taught that playing with fire leads to heartbreaking consequences, but it is often too late to prevent a burn. There is one field in which this idiom applies inevitably, called love.

There is no logic in love, no laws, no rules – it is a phenomenon that occurs spontaneously, ruled by emotion.

These factors define the very opposite of what Draco had always yearned to be. With time the ideology of his Father lessened in perfection – experiences demonstrated that an ultimate goal is tricky; but it remained nonetheless, hanging like a veil over his consciousness. He should be in control. _He _should direct and keep order. Not some momentary emotion.

But Draco had lost his control somewhere on the way and could not demand achievements of himself he could never fulfill. He was no longer able to direct his feelings and keep order in his raging heart. And he couldn't comprehend what worried him more: the knowledge of rejection – the first in his life – or the fact that he had approached Harry in the first place.

His hands shook as he threw away the empty pack of cigarettes and lit his last one. Pansy walked by his side, rummaging through her bag frenetically and performing a monologue Draco couldn't mentally participate in. His memory reeled back to the events of Sunday morning, when he had woken up with an excruciatingly painful headache and no recollection of his actions after Harry had left the night before. After an hour of enduring Dobby's half-hearted scolding and swallowing penicillin, he had to face his Father in soberness, who had arrived from New-York just recently. What he said shocked him immensely. He wondered for a second if anyone had seen him stumble into the house drunk the night before, but dismissed the option, for he knew he would have gotten a proper admonishment in that case. What Lucius said instead was:

"I don't want you to befriend that atrocious Potter boy from your class."

When Draco tried to prod further, he met a silent barrier; his Father left him in oblivion. Draco had no suitable response to give but to say that any possibility of friendship was already destroyed. And ironically, it was true. Not only friendship, but any sort of communication, any form of relationship was now unattainable.

He dreaded returning to school on Monday morning. He contemplated feigning sick, because he had spent half the night tossing in constant thought, but decided that would furthermore destroy the unspoken protocol of the Malfoys. He wouldn't admit losing a battle, just as he wouldn't admit having weaknesses. Craning his neck above his pillow, he glanced at his bedside clock and swore colorfully. Damn the protocol, he cursed, he'd be lucky if he made it to school in time.

He did, but later than usual, sweaty and swearing. He had to spend five minutes in the bathrooms to get his hair in order, damning Mondays three times in a row. The mirror showed him an image of utter perfection, although with dark shadows under his eyes that betrayed his tiredness. Little seemed to go his way lately, he noted with frustration and as he made his way to his Class common rooms, his new theory was only confirmed.

He heard voices from behind an open door: Pansy's and Lavender's usual giggles, Ron's low chuckle and Blaise's pompous boasting. But over the habitual clatter of morning coffee cups and hushed conversation, a boy's voice rang in his ears, and to the blonde's astonishment, Draco's name appeared in his speech more than necessary. He stepped closer, almost pressing his ear to the door, forgetting completely that Malfoys showed considerably more subtlety when eavesdropping.

'Someone should sit him down and have a forthright chat about social hierarchy. What's he doing, hanging out with Potter? Wasn't it him who installed all the social rules here?'

The room submerged into total silence and Draco smirked at his friends' dumbstruck reactions. He opened the door slightly, only to witness Justin Finch-Fletchey standing in the middle of the room, stirring sugar into his coffee and talking in arrogant tones. Encouraged by his classmate's outraged expressions, he continued loudly, 'But everyone knows the Malfoy name is degrading with every year now.'

Draco slowly stepped into the room, conscious of his inability to suppress a malevolent twist to his smirk. His eyes focused on Justin's, two horror-struck irises that rounded comically.

'What did you say, Fletchey?'

Justin glanced around the room hurriedly and ducked his head in humiliation. He gulped but held his head high, despite the embarrassment. 'It's _Finch_-Fletchey, Draco.'

Draco blinked and kept his tenor arctic, his smirk transforming into an elegant sneer. 'And it's Malfoy for you. Get out.'

The sandy-haired boy stuttered and flushed a deep scarlet, bubbling with rage. He then placed his coffee onto the table and dashed past Draco, out of the room. The door slammed shut deafeningly. Malfoy scanned the crowd before him and spotted Hannah Abbot staring at him wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling.

'What's bothering _you_, Abbot? Want to join your little mignon?' the blond snapped and as the latter shook her head rather violently, accepted his coffee from Parvati who batted her eyelashes at him in adoration.

Blaise gave out a sinister chuckle from his seat and shook his head, smiling. Old Draco was back, stirring scandals and gossip. Sweet old days, he thought with a lazy stretch. They were finally back.

…

It's been more than a week now: eight days of incessant thoughts and turmoil, chocolate and cigarettes to accompany his philosophies. His friends and classmates surrounded him, happily obliging to any of his needs, trying to engage him in conversations and talks and collective debates at school. He was not depressed, as he repeatedly persuaded himself, he was simply regretful, of everything that had unfortunately happened in the last several weeks. Harry had been a pleasant intrusion in his life, but now that it was gone, he realized its true value. Draco missed him.

The blond sighed and ran a hand through his silky golden hair, as he watched Pansy frowning at the cigarette hanging loosely from in between his lips. She flicked her long hair back and watched him inhale the nicotine with a shaky breath.

"What is wrong with you lately?"

Draco started. "What do you mean?" After a short silence, he blinked confusedly. "Nothing's wrong."

"Silly, you cannot fool me," she huffed exasperatedly. "Tell me what happened."

Draco regarded her for a few long moments in silence. She had her legs crossed, as they now sat on the bus stop, her leather jacket and cap large on her petite form. She suddenly reminded Draco of their friendship in primary school. He smiled sorrowfully. "Panse, nothing is wrong, I promise."

She rolled her eyes, pursing her glossy lips in frustration. "Draco, your school report is getting worse with every failed test; you smoke at least a pack of cigarettes a day, you eat about twice as little as before. Except for chocolate," she pointed out angrily, flashing him two empty candy wrappers. "And you've become distant to all your friends. Everyone had noticed. Don't think that you can get away with waving me off once more."

Draco sighed and rubbed his front despondently. His mind was shutting down and his eyes were watering in exhaustion, all because of another sleepless night. Pansy frowned, sending him anxious glances from beneath her black leather cap. Finally she heaved a lengthy sigh and took Draco's hand in between her warm palms.

"Draco, we love you and care for you just as much as we would for a brother. I've got Ginny and Hermione calling me up, asking whether you're feeling alright, both awfully concerned. Ron, Seamus, Dean, Theo – all are worried for you. Blaise swore to barge into your house last night and knock you out of your trance," she rolled her eyes, "before I knocked him out with our Math textbook." When Draco gave a small chuckle of encouragement, she continued, gripping his hand gently. "Draco, we're all dying to know what happened. Open up. Please." She wrinkled her nose at the cigarette in Draco's other hand. "And while you're at it, I'd advise you to quit the suicidal campaign."

Draco laughed genuinely and dropped the cigarette, stepping on it, unhesitant. He blinked tiredly and squeezed Pansy's palm in response. "Thanks," he sighed, "I – well, I guess it'll just pass. But your support is really helpful."

She gave him a small honest smile. Suddenly Draco felt extremely guilty for ever thinking of trading her with Potter. He remembered his words about her in the pub – Harry never wanted to go out with Pansy in the first place. And by pretending he did, he was causing both Draco and Pansy an irreversible pain. The blond swore to himself determinedly that he'll try as hard as possible to keep Pansy out of the same trouble he had to face with Potter. He was a hazard to anyone's mental health. Who could have guessed that behind the pearly whites of bravery and honesty lay a smirk of a coldhearted serpent?

But that was Harry Potter for you.

…

The second they got to the School gates, Draco sensed something terribly wrong in the air. It was an instinct he developed in Hogwarts: a place where a scandal detector would blow with the intensity of gossip and sheer amount of outrageousness. There was no innuendo or warning - these scandals steam-rolled onto the community and the press was on campus in no time, sniffing for shameful information.

The murmurs augmented in geometrical sequences, gossip amounting to immoral accusations. These murmurs were the first thing Draco and Pansy heard, as they entered the school. A large crowd gathered in the central Hall. Its attention was directed at the marble staircase, where three policemen stood, whispering quietly with the Principle of Admissions and Head of Academics, their conversation hushed. Two police cars were parked in front of the second, unofficial entrance to the school, their flashing lights signaling alert. As Draco looked back to the school gates, an ambulance vehicle rolled around the corner and disappeared behind the school fence. Draco's heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, pounding loudly in his head. A momentary fright seized his insides and squeezed at his throat in panic. His thoughts rushed to Blaise, Theo and Ron, who weren't standing in the crowd that surrounded them.

The blond caught a flash glimpse of Dylan's prefect badge and dashed past a throng of freshmen towards the other prefects. He had to push through the crowd, as people stared up in his face, evidently inquisitive, refusing to let him pass without a definite explanation. Hermione gave him a tender peck on the cheek and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "The committee is searching for you."

Draco thanked her hurriedly and looked around. He ushered a horde of juniors into the Gym frenetically, snapping at them with impatience. Something was _wrong _and he had to figure out what it was. As he slipped out of the sports gym, he was greeted by the staff, steering the mass of students out of the Entrance Hall and towards their usual classes. He saw Pansy sending him a concerned glance over her shoulder and Dean encircling his arm around her waist, guiding her to the science corridor. He saw Theo, Ginny and Ron rounding the corner, engaged in an argument, and felt relief wash over him.

Dylan and Thomas approached him, their expressions alert, and Draco's breath caught once more. "What the hell happened?"

Dylan glanced swiftly towards the three policemen, then exchanged glances with Thomas. "I'm not completely sure, but apparently Cedric was sent to the hospital last night."

Thomas shivered. "The details better not get past the Prefects. This is the dirtiest shit Hogwarts had gotten into these past few years."

Dylan observed Draco's face attentively, as the blond listened to the other Prefect. He sighed heavily and rubbed his front. "You might not like this, Draco, but one of your close friends had something to do with this. A pack of drugs was discovered in Potter's dorm this morning."

"And Cedric was overdosed…" Thomas concluded in a quiet mutter, pity in his gaze as he watched Draco.

Draco's heart crashed somewhere lower this time, ceasing its beat for a couple of terrifying moments. A silent panic flooded his chest, violently snatching his breath away. He glanced frenetically between the two prefects. It was only by grace of God that he gathered his fluttering wits together and opened his mouth to speak.

"This is not possible."

Thomas lowered his lashes. "Well…the police is all over the boys' dormitories at the moment. Potter is at the police-station and Cedric is at the reanimation…so…"

Dylan sighed again. "Both will be expelled. If Diggory survives at all."

Draco gulped and looked towards the policemen. He caught one's eye and the latter narrowed his eyes in suspicion. His mind raced speedily, his thoughts rushing to the images of Potter he had delicately stored in his memory. A sudden flash of reminiscence hovered above all others: it was the night they traveled to London, when Harry confessed to him about his parents' deaths. As he recalled correctly, he had said that he was blamed for the murder before the charges were removed and the real assassinator was discovered. Why? Well, trust Potter to never tell.

Was he really doing drugs? He couldn't. He _couldn't. _Draco averted his gaze away from the marble staircase and blinked thoughtfully. Who was he kidding? He knew Potter _could_.

The thought bothered him throughout the rest of the day. Dylan's speedy predicament of Potter's and Diggory's expulsion was what scared him most. He didn't quite know why: Potter had quite clearly expressed his disdain for Draco's attraction eight nights ago. He ran away from Draco and disappeared at school. Math had become an excruciating torture for the blond prefect, for it was entirely spent in silence. He still sat beside the raven-haired, and it seemed both competed fiercely to show how little they cared and regretted about what had happened. But as genuine as Harry's charade seemed, he would feel the boy tense whenever Draco took a deep breath, preparing to talk, or witness a dark shade of disgust sluice over his handsome features – and he would experience another heart-flipping sensation. Trepidation and fear pooled in his stomach, yet he couldn't find the reason why. Perhaps because he was afraid of Harry creating a public humiliation from a mere personal affair. But then he looked onto the empty seat beside Harry during mealtimes in the school cafeteria or in the library; observe the way in which his eyes would concentrate on the material before him, blatantly ignoring Draco's presence, or flinging him indifferent glances, as if he was a part of the local décor – and the blond understood why it hurt so much.

Yet as much as the competition progressed into pure hatred, he couldn't help but worry for Harry. Why the _hell _was Harry such a trouble magnet?

He was rudely interrupted from his trance, by an opening door and a pair of clacking heels stepping into his office. The blond lifted his thoughtful gaze and found an aged man grasping the doorknob of the prefects' office.

"Draco Malfoy, I presume? Officer Turk." The man shook his hand firmly in greeting.

He presumed it was one of the policemen, finally coming face-to-face with Harry Potter's so called only friend at Hogwarts Academy. He nodded wordlessly and tried as hard as possible to keep his face straight and his thoughts focused on the direct present, for they were bound to depart astray, to Harry. The man examined him for any doubtful signs and tore his gaze away tentatively from the blonde's face, towards his leather-bound notebook. The door clicked shut.

'Afternoon. How may I help you, Sir?' he inquired rather coolly, keeping his posture proud in his seat.

The officer took his time observing the bureau, eyeing the colorful poster-collage of all the school prefects outstretched onto one of the walls. He stood motionless, only his eyes traveling across the room. Suddenly, they stopped on Draco, penetrating his eyes. 'Are you aware of the current situation at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy?'

Draco nodded again. He stood up languidly, 'Please take a seat.' With those sweetly polite words he pulled up Dylan's chair closer to his desk. Then he dropped carelessly into his own seat.

The man smiled and shook his head. He clicked his pen several times, before sighing and sitting back, with his leg propped up onto his knee. 'You're a prefect at Hogwarts, aren't you? All those nametags and badges, Mr. Malfoy. How do you earn them?'

'By keeping order at school. By looking after other students, their welfare and academic achievements. The committee helps students in case of disciplinary hearings or with sanctions in general,' Draco replied smoothly. Then he smiled his perfect prefect smile.

'Do you deal with disciplinary councils as teachers do, Mr. Malfoy? Do you protect the students, or do you simply keep them company?'

'Well, most students require some moral support against the large director league of Hogwarts, during the hearings, especially if the case is worthy of an expulsion. Nothing is done automatically, even at colleges so prestigious. Professor Dumbledore and the staff dearly treasure our students, so we try to negotiate most of the times.'

'So, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, as Hogwarts students, will go through a disciplinary council, even if their actions were judged incorrect in juridical terms?'

Draco shrugged elegantly, 'That is for Professor Dumbledore to decide, Sir. I have no influence or interest in meddling in that sphere whatsoever.'

'Were there any cases with drug abuse at the school recently?'

'Never. We've never come across something like this before.'

'And what would you say about the fashionable rumor of Hogwarts drug-trafficking?'

'I've heard that one,' the blond raised a graceful brow. 'What am I supposed to think of it? I've never come across it before, but I'm not as naïve as to think it doesn't exist, since we're in a world where such things are unavoidable.'

The man nodded slightly, his pen coming in contact with the yellow pages of his notebook, messily scribbling a phrase into it. 'Were you and Harry Potter or Cedric Diggory friends by any chance?'

Draco sighed, thoughts rushing through his head. Tough question, he thought, taking into account their history. 'Well, I never considered Cedric my close friend, although he was – _is_ an excellent prefect…and a good student too, despite this whole scandal. Harry Potter, on the other hand, is another story. We were pretty close friends for some time,' Draco sighed, trying to figure out the right way to word his phrase, 'before we fought and parted our separate ways.'

'Nothing to do with his consumption of drugs?'

Draco shook his head slowly, 'Personal issues.'

'Do you think Mr. Potter consumed drugs?'

Not sure of anything anymore, Draco though bitterly. 'I very much doubt it,' he said aloud, 'he never showed signs of it or ever mentioned it to me.'

'It's habitually not something you mention over a daily cup of coffee, Mr. Malfoy.'

Draco felt his ire rise inevitably, clutching at his throat. 'I'm aware of that. But I also happen to know what drug-addicts look and sound like, thanks to some unfortunate acquaintances. Harry doesn't smoke, neither does he abuse alcohol and generally believes in the well-being of a human body. He did plan to become a doctor.'

The officer leaned in closer. 'So you don't believe Harry Potter takes drugs generally. Do you think he was prone to use them as, perhaps, alcohol, say, in order to momentarily escape some trouble?'

Draco shook his head again. 'He wasn't the type of guy. I know he's strong, he's brave. He's been through a lot and you can see an inevitable imprint of his experiences on his character. He has learnt how to deal with problems face-to-face. He wouldn't use drugs to get away from problems.'

'I found lots of people who profoundly disagree with you, Mr. Malfoy. The popular opinion is that Harry Potter was a sinister, unfriendly, unsociable and dark young man, and a very likely candidate for drug-use.' Officer Turk tapped his pen on the desk, licking his lips. 'You said about his past. According to his records, your friend did indeed have an unfortunate past. Quite a reason to use drugs, don't you think?'

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his silky hair. 'Listen, I know you have evidence to think he's a drug-addict and such, but if my word matters at all, I know him enough to affirm that he wasn't one.'

'Well, not all evidence,' the officer pulled back from the desk into his seat, 'the packet we found in his belongings didn't have his finger-prints on it. However, I believe there are ways to arrange that without being a genius…'

Draco gave out a chuckle. 'That's true.'

The man's lips twitched into a shadow of a smile. He stood up and stretched out his hand across the desk. 'Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I'll keep in touch with further details, in case anything…occurs.'

'Sir,' Draco nodded and watched guardedly as the man exited his office and McGonagall accompanied him down the corridor.

…

Potter's return to classes two days later transformed a normal school day into a total disarray of incessant whispers and murmurs. Every time he passed a corridor, groups would gather together, briskly changing their topic of discussion to mumble accusations or new suppositions on his behalf. As much as Draco's genuine worry amounted for the boy, he couldn't disregard the feeling of smugness that arose in his guts each time he caught a glimpse of his miserable face. His eyes weren't the same laughing, mirthful green pools that Draco had gotten accustomed to: they were dark and broody, burdened with thoughts. The fact that he was the new outrageous gossip of the college, a figure repeatedly thrashed out in local newspapers, didn't seem to bother him as much as his own gloomy reflections.

News from Cedric hadn't changed from the previous day – he was still at Saint Mungo's, apparently overdosed. And the authorities, such as Dumbledore and McGonagall, remained silent, despite the students' constant questions.

As usual, on Wednesday after school hours, changed from his uniform and ready to go home, Draco strode along the corridors of the school, checking the lights and windows in all classes. He was almost finished when, rounding a corner, he heard voices in one of the darker and narrower halls. He wouldn't have been shocked if it wasn't eight-thirty in the evening – he knew couples preferred this place during break-time, as a secret getaway from the crowds in the cafeteria. The blond rolled his eyes, preparing to deliver a half-hearted speech about after-hours presence in the academic part of the building, when one of the students suddenly turned around. Draco opened his mouth in shock, as Potter, messy and disheveled, glared at him heatedly. Smudges of red lipstick adorned his swollen lips. His arms were positioned on either side of a slender girl, who was pinned to the wall by the menacing power of his body. Cho Chang, with her uniform skirt pulled ridiculously high, had her arms snaked around his neck, pulling Harry closer.

Swiftly she covered her face with two shaking palms, exerted a noisy moan and darted past Draco. Her hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor walls, accompanied by tearful snivels and sobs.

Harry closed his eyes, as a blush blossomed on his cheeks, coloring his neck. He was still leaning against the wall with one hand, as the other went through his hair, tousling it further. Draco turned away awkwardly and gulped, trying to figure out frenetically what to say. His frenzied thoughts were interrupted by Harry's rough voice.

'It's not what you think it is.'

Draco straightened and met Harry's stare questioningly. 'I don't care.'

The raven-haired looked down onto his feet and blinked several times, his expression betraying his inner turmoil. 'Then why are you here?'

Indignation exploded in his chest, turning his eyesight into a blinding strip of red for a second. A powerful wave of loathing flooded him, reminding his hatred for the man standing arrogantly before him. He sneered. 'I have Prefect duties to uphold.' He let his glare to travel judgingly down Harry's body and return to his face, filled with revulsion. 'You shouldn't be here.'

A similar fiery reaction flashed in Harry's eyes and he snarled, 'I'll do what I please, I live in this goddamn school.'

'I'm not going to treat you any differently from everyone else, Potter. If you don't want detention with Snape, who would gladly occupy you for the rest of the week,' Draco continued coolly, 'I suggest you scamper off to the boarding section.'

Harry ripped himself away from the wall and walked slowly past the blond, touching him with his shoulder in the process, making Draco shiver visibly. Harry leaned close to him and as Draco turned his face stubbornly away, whispered hotly into his ear, 'You might not want to treat me differently, but both of us know you'll end up doing so. That's how you feel after all.'

'Well, feelings change,' Draco hissed back, finally turning around to glare viciously into the green orbs.

Harry lifted a brow with a knowing smile that Draco had the sudden desire to crush with his fists. But by the time Draco could think of anything else to shout after him, Potter rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

The blond kicked the wall angrily, ignoring the pain, and slid down to the stone floor. He was sick of the raven-haired. Every time he thought he discovered a pearl at the base of Harry's shell, a sly serpent snaked out, revealing its poisonous fangs. He sure knew how to hit the most painful spots, entangling Draco's heart in contradictory feelings he never knew existed.

Draco left the school in a hurry and with a terrible mood. He headed straight to Blaise's, flinging his chauffeur a dirty glance when he tried to question the blond about his mood. The door swung open and Blaise smirked, welcoming him with open arms.

'Take me somewhere, Zabini,' Draco grumbled in greeting.

Blaise tied his white cashmere scarf around his shoulders, grabbed his keys and dropped his hand onto the blonde's shoulder amicably, doing all those things at once. 'I sense a strong desire for partying in the atmosphere,' he whispered with conspiratorial glee.

'You bet your ass,' Draco muttered in response, waving off his chauffeur as he climbed into Blaise's black cabriolet.

'Martini, cigarettes and models?' Blaise inquired nonchalantly, as the engine rumbled to life.

'That's right,' Draco stretched in his seat, feeling the spring breeze rush through his hair as they rolled speedily down the street. 'Let's go to Imperia. I haven't been there in…ages.'

'Five months, Draco, five fucking months.' Blaise laughed wholeheartedly. 'Old men with impotency issues can't last as long. I've got to ask if it's the Prefect duties that spoil your innate carousing talents.'

Draco shuddered at the mention of Prefect duties and cursed Potter silently. If the impudent bastard thought Draco a lovesick stalker – well, he was just going to prove him wrong. Only somehow, the more he thought about him, the more the obsession intensified. The harder and further Harry ran, the more Draco desired to chase after him and conquer his heart… but the less achievable it became.

…

_Tick-tack. Tick-tack. Tick-tack-_

'Fuck,' Draco whispered quietly and felt his world tilting sideways. Slowly, feeling his head pounding heavily, he cracked one eye open. A bed – he was certainly on a bed. As he craned his neck carefully, lifting himself onto his elbows, he saw a girl's bushy-haired head laying on his pillow, her face snuggling into his side. On the other side, he saw a second girl with identically dark hair, curling her hand around his torso carelessly. He sniffed confusedly and glanced around. The ticking clock on the bedside table told him it was ten, and the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows suggested it was morning. Ten am.

'Double fuck.'

Draco rubbed his eyes with one hand, sighing, and sat up fully. The girl's head dropped onto the pillow and she moaned dazedly, fast asleep. The other girl remained still, her hand lying limp on Draco's thighs. He carefully stood up, noting with astonishment that he was naked. Though why astonishment, he didn't know – after all, it was quite obvious what the three of them had been doing the previous night. The blond pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jeans and lit one, simultaneously trying to put on his shirt. It was only suitable that his schoolbag was with him – and he thanked Blaise for that fact, because the pounding head suggested he was a drunken man last night and only Blaise could rationalize in that case. Consequently it was Blaise that found those two astoundingly beautiful girls for him and it was also Blaise that had gotten him drunk in the first place.

Draco cursed again and pulled out his cell phone. Eleven missed calls and four messages. One of them was from Blaise: a smug text that informed him of the address he was at. Must have been out dead to miss all those, the blond thought distractedly. As he unlocked the door from the apartment, he heard the bed creak and one of the girls leaned against the doorframe, watching him expectantly.

'Where are you off to?'

Draco blinked, typing a message to the local taxi company. 'College.'

'Well,' the girl adjusted the duvet around her shoulders so that her tan legs were revealed, 'call me.'

Draco's eyes traveled up her form and he nodded once before bolting out of the flat. When he descended the eight flights of stairs, the taxi was already waiting.

As he expected, at his arrival to school, his entire class was aware of what he had done the night before. Apparently Blaise told them about the Mexican twins and the vicious tequila shots competition at Imperia nightclub. Zabini himself was at school on time, looking spotless and satisfied: the way he looked most days. Thankfully, Dumbledore was content with his hurried explanation, the one where he had gotten stuck at a business reunion of his father's. But then again, Dumbledore was content with most things that occurred at Hogwarts, if his perpetual optimism was anything to judge by.

Expect of course the major scandal that the school had dirtied itself in, locally. Although, it seemed now that the initial shock subsided, students found other matters for conversation. Perhaps it was the fact that nobody fully understood what had happened that night and Potter's return to class signaled a ceasefire among the community that was literally drooling for more information. The details that managed to escape were polished to harmlessness and teachers remained as secretive as agent detectives, only snooping around twice as inquisitively after pupils. The authorities struggled to bury all existing evidence. And strangely, most tended to think the situation skidded under control, what with the supplementary guards around the campus and inside the main building. In addition, Prefect duties increased in durance throughout the school, which was a definite disadvantage for Draco.

At lunch, Draco busied himself with Literature homework that remained incomplete due to yesterday's spectacular events. Not that he was proud of last night, but he wasn't ashamed either, for his benevolence and righteousness within the narrow confinements of the school never influenced his attitude outside, where he permitted himself much more autonomy and independence. And as much as he was compelled to exist in the imprisonment of his father's shadow, at times he fancied a little mutiny, allowing himself luxuries he knew Lucius would vastly disapprove of. Obviously if he was highly prudent, Blaise successfully abused all rights imposed on him by his parents. His legitimate mother, a woman of almost unearthly beauty, and her sixth husband could do little to tame the teenage boy and his immediate demands and spoiled behavior.

Pansy peered at him over a tall stack of books, watching as he struggled to conclude his essay. She had finished braiding her slick blonde hair, straightening it out with her fingers and pulling it into a loose knot at her nape, and now with no intentional activity in mind, dropped her legs onto the nearest chair and sighed.

'You know, the Ball's soon,' she began offhandedly.

Draco lifted his head from the paperwork load and blinked. He had almost forgotten that the Ball, which he had so thoroughly organized, was being held next weekend. Distracted by the recent scandal and preoccupied with the whole Potter issue, he had entirely overlooked the necessity of a date or a costume. Reality came crashing onto him as he stared at his best friend, remembering all the little details he had forgotten to deal with. He wondered idly whether anyone could complete the few minor arrangements he had left. No, he highly doubted it.

Not awaiting a coherent response, Pansy carried on. 'I just bought a dress this weekend, while you were hanging out with my date. By the way, I haven't seen Potter in ages. Aren't you guys on really friendly terms?'

Draco sighed and dropped his pen, pretending to stretch casually. 'Well, I befriended him because you wanted a date for the Ball, it's not like we're real friends…I simply don't have time for him nowadays.'

At least it's partially true, Draco thought smugly as guilt spiraled down his spine and settled in a heavy weight heavy at the pit of his stomach.

Pansy regarded him for some time before returning to her braiding. 'It was sweet of you to persuade him…maybe we'll get to know each other that night, you know – _really _talk for the first time. He's the hottest news these days, have you heard? But the mystery's still unresolved,' she whispered dramatically, giggling. Then her face adopted a mask of seriousness. 'Draco, what if he really does use drugs?'

'I doubt it,' Draco shook his head and scribbled another sentence into his uncommitted essay.

She hummed under her breath and continued fiddling with her hair. Silence settled comfortably around, falling down mutely onto the library like a weighty sheet of invisible snowflakes. But as Draco pretended to stare at his written work, his mind wandered into the meandering labyrinths of his consciousness. He decided he wouldn't waste time on stupid reflections about Potter anymore, he would just live his own life. Damn the dim-witted raven-haired for missing the best chance his life could offer him: Draco's companionship.

But his immediate plans consisted of fixing some of the problems concerning the ball.

He headed to the prefects' office after school, intending to meet Dylan and Thomas to discuss the ball night. As he rounded the corner, sipping his cappuccino out of a hot plastic cup from the cafeteria, he came nose to nose with Potter, who was leaning against his doorframe. Draco rolled his eyes with an irritated growl and reached for the keys in his pocket. As he began unlocking the door, he felt Harry's intense glare virtually boring holes into his nape.

Upon coming in, he dropped his belongings onto his desk. Harry came in, unwavering at the entrance and now stared at him with those profound green eyes that were so painfully troubled with thoughts, pointedly avoiding Draco's face. The blond looked up expectantly and waited for the circus to begin.

'Had a good night out?' Potter began, his voice dripping with somber mirth.

Draco exerted a graceful snigger. 'What do you want?'

Harry lowered his lashes in an absurd parody of a shy love-pining maiden. He circled the room once, pacing, and stopped before the collage, observing it with feigned interest.

Sighing, Draco slumped into his leather chair and propped his legs onto Dylan's low rolling chair. 'I know you didn't come to ogle at our pretty pictures. What do you want?'

'I can't come round to visit my old friend?' Harry turned around with a wry grin, laughter dancing cheerily in his green eyes. 'I've heard Officer Turk visited you as one of my closest friends at this damned rat-hole. I'm generally a good person, am I? I'm – how did you put it – strong and brave?'

'I once thought so,' Draco replied calmly. 'But now that you're on the verge of being expelled, accused of drug-abuse, and in addition making a public spectacle out of yourself – I can hardly recall ever thinking that.'

'Who's making a spectacle,' Harry hissed, swiftly turning around, anger flashing in his eyes. 'You can't live without popular recognition, Malfoy – and to secure it, you'd spit mud down at people who are considerably lower than your family name in your stupid social hierarchy. Because that's what you all do. But here you are: you think you're all saintly sitting there in your little Prefect's office.'

Draco sat up, feeling nauseous from suppressed anger and resentment and bitter disappointment. 'Yet it'll be me who's staying at Hogwarts, because I'm careful no to meddle with shit like drugs, Potter. Because my social status is what allows me to choose my friends.'

'Well, gladly, I'm not going anywhere.' Harry smiled coldly.

Heart jumping to his throat, Draco looked up. 'What?'

'I'm most probably staying at Hogwarts. I'm freed from arrest…technically. It's all down to the board of directors to decide whether I should remain here.' Harry announced dully, returning to the collage on the wall.

Trying to suppress the momentary urge to laugh maniacally, Draco leaned back in his seat, simply smiling. 'Well, good, because you've got detention with Snape tomorrow night and you can't miss it.'

Harry whipped around, 'What? Why?'

Draco made an innocent face, 'I thought I was being clear yesterday.'

Harry's mouth opened and closed, gaping.

Draco smiled at his helplessness. 'Life's a bitch,' he shrugged.

Harry paused, his chest heaving in fury, a bright flush washing over his features. His gaze was blazing, a dark sneer sluiced over his handsome face. His hand grasping the handle, he turned around.

'And so are you, Malfoy.'


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Yes, I'm alive, and this is my delayed update. Sowwy…?_

_A huge thank you to all those who review this story, it means a great deal to me. I cherish every comment. I do have some answers to several questions, though. First of all, you're right, the legal age in UK is 18 (soon to become 21, I've heard…) but efficient fake ID cards work quite well in all clubs; speaking from experience… And secondly – no more "frenetic" for me, at least in this chapter! So giant cookies to all my reviewers, simply because you make me smile!_

_In response to one wonderful comment, yes, it really will be a beautiful romance. Let's hope it all works out for our boys. Now, enjoy!_

…

Night descended on the city like a shroud, submerging its inhabitants into darkness. Leisurely, as shade drank the remainder of daylight, the very last sparks of the sun crawled along brick and asphalt before drowning in the intensity of the night. The hum of rumbling engines quivered the roads beneath their rolling wheels and as some windows plunged into darkness, other lights flickered to life. Rows of street lamps illuminated deserted lanes and glossy café signs glimmered in the distance.

When affairs surpassed midnight, there was little romance in the atmosphere, but a feverish rush that kept the city alive. Traffic amounted, fashion changed; limousine headlights winked expensively next to regional hotspots. Champagne poured into crystal flutes and bubbled luxuriously over its sides in a white simmer. Eyes sparkled with passion. Music roared. Smiles widened. And as many residents of the city pointed out, on Friday nights, main roads or even narrow paths led to _Infinity. _The lights blazed onto the red carpet that rolled itself towards the club's magnificent entrance, and as the violet velvet doors unlocked, numerous visitors plunged into a universe of infinite luxury and wealth.

Draco lifted his flute, filled with sparkling champagne up to its golden sides and sipped. Music erupted from the loudspeakers and the blond gazed down from the leather couches at the crowd below, sweat-soaked and intoxicated. Blaise had his hand on the metallic rails as he swallowed mouthfuls of champagne from a whole bottle and bobbed his head in rhythm, licking his lips ever so often. A bleach-blonde occupied him, wobbling on her high heels inexpertly with a fruity cocktail in hand, staring eagerly at his lips every time he lowered his head to whisper something witty in her ear. The guards of the VIP section stood motionless next to the doors, dressed in identical classy black suits. Golden flickers of light glittered from underneath the deep violet cloths that draped both the bar and the ceiling, reflecting on every perfectly polished surface.

Leaning onto the rails, Draco looked around. A tall black-haired girl grinned at him from the bar and began making her way over, her hips swaying. Rolling his eyes, he opened his mouth to convey his deepest apologies – and shut it promptly after recognizing her haughty expression. With an inward sigh, he prepared for a stricter speech.

"Draco Malfoy, how honored," she cooed sarcastically, a predatory spark invading her features.

"I don't remember asking for free services tonight."

She laughed, nearly sloshing her drink onto Draco's jeans. Stepping closer, she leaned against the rails, baring the generous décolleté of her dress. "You know, the repetitiveness of your jokes saddens me."

"No doubt," the blond snorted, "you're rather sad by nature."

Her smirk widened. "You came back, then. Or just continuing your little charade?"

"Just showing Blaise around. It should teach him a lesson on what kinds of whores reside in our cultural capital."

Her eyes flamed a dark blue. She tilted her head, bringing her lips intimately close to Draco's. "Don't act as though I'm head over heels over you. I never wanted you, Malfoy."

"And never will, I'll see to that," Draco turned his back to the rails and drowned his champagne, though without the earlier enthusiasm.

"Where's Brian then? Wasn't he always the one who had you dangling on his leash? Dragging you here every week, wasn't he? Why come back without the professional in the game, Malfoy?" She persisted, her eyes blazing with loathing. "Where's he gone, huh?"

"None of your business," Draco snapped, surprised at how tetchy his voice sounded.

"Of course," she smirked, "I wouldn't be asking otherwise." She circled the rails and came face-to-face with the blond, regarding him with clear, disarmingly clever eyes for a moment. Not waiting for a response, she persevered coolly, "Maybe you're trying to overcome the demons of the past by coming here. But you," she stabbed him painfully in the chest with her manicured nails, accentuating every syllable, "_you _are the demon of the past, Malfoy. You bear the secrets of this place, like a dirty coffin. You're just as guilty."

"You don't know a thing, Absera," Draco hissed angrily. He had to suppress his shaky fingers from reaching for his cigarette pack.

"You meant I'm not supposed to know. Things tend to be hushed up, don't they, in our small, honest community?"

Draco glared, hiding his anguished sigh behind his champagne flute. Quite expertly, he kept his expression clear from emotion. "I'm not in the mood for banter. Besides, I don't think it wise of you playing with words, since most of your pitiful life had been spent playing prosperous men. I know how girls like you operate."

"You're just scared, because I know everything." Absera flicked her straight black hair back, revealing an elegant tattoo snaking down her neck. For a moment Draco wondered whether it was there the last time he had seen her. "You've disappeared for a year, Draco; right after Brian fled the country. The most influential figure committed the dirtiest of all possible crimes and you broke your neck trying to conceal his guilt. How loyal. What wouldn't you do for a friend?"

"I'm warning you," Draco concentrated on restraining the urge to snap her pretty wrists into bloody bits. The horrors of the previous school year suddenly flooded his chest, scraping at his heart like arctic scalpels. He knew that if his glares could murder, Absera would have been easily transformed into a mass of ash.

"Maybe it's none of my business how Gregory was beaten and then thrown out_. _Maybe it's none of my business how his relatives could barely recognize his body where it lay, bloody and broken, outside, like some nameless destitute _bitch_." She exhaled, colleting her wits, tears shining in her eyes. "But you made it yours, when you protected Brian, when you had _no_ obligation _whatsoever_ to do so."

"I don't know where you got this information, but your sources are obviously biased."

"Oh, of course!" She exclaimed dramatically, spreading her hands in wonder. "How typical it is for you not to accept the guilt. You know, you always yearned for dangerous experiences. Always loved scandals, didn't you? You, Brian and that boy that always followed you – Zabini. The _trio_," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "Haven't you had enough? Or do you never stop?"

"There never was a trio," Draco snapped, his eyes searching for Blaise in the crowd below.

The knuckles on Absera's hand, that now gripped the rail, went white from fury. "Fuck you, Malfoy! I _hate_ you."

Draco eyed her coldly. "You think you're the only one? You think I don't hate - that I don't despisethe way things turned out?"

"Then why are you here?"

Draco blinked down at her and swallowed the bitterness that had collected in his mouth during the conversation. He found it hard to answer, his throat suddenly as dry as sandpaper. His heart hammering in his chest, he opened his mouth to utter another sharp remark and found no desire to voice it, for as hard as he regretted, he knew that no one would allow him the smallest clemency if they ever heard about his past.

"I don't know."

Thoughts and memories flooded his mind, and trying to stave them off was futile as they persisted, acidic and aching above an open wound.

"I changed," he whispered through the roaring rhythm of the music. "I tried to change, I…"

But before Draco had the chance to continue, Theodore sauntered over, appearing behind Absera, and slipping his hands daringly onto her breasts. She gasped and shoved him back, causing him to stumble drunkenly. The moment was palpably lost and Draco regained his clinical expression, with his glorious posture of a proud lion standing his ground. After a moment of hesitation, the girl gave Draco a final glance, so swamped with contradictory emotions, he had difficulty making sense of it – and rushed away, pushing through the dense crowd.

"Where's Blaise?" Draco asked, frowning after her.

Theodore made a show of swinging about gracelessly, "Blaise's gone," he slurred.

"God, you smell like you've bathed in whiskey."

Theodore laughed wholeheartedly, throwing his head back. He was pleasantly ripped, by the looks of it – if his bloodshot eyes and garbled speech were anything to go by.

"I've bathed in _heaven, _Draco. The best you'll ever find."

The blond blinked. Then he shook his head slowly. "You don't mean-"

"E-E-E-_Ecstasy,_" the boy sniggered in a sing-song tone, flicking a transparent pack of pills out of his pocket and dangling them in front of Draco's face joyfully.

Draco seized the packet, his anger forcing him to act fast, and took Theodore by his collar furiously, in a death grip. All the way down the stairs and to the freshness of the air outside the club, Draco held him in a tight grasp, not stopping to see whether the other kept up with his speedy pace. He didn't cease his rapid stride even when the bouncers called for him, asking whether everything was alright. He offered them a reassuring cold smile and pushed through the lengthy crowd of young men and women lingering curiously by the entrance.

"You've some explaining to do," he snarled, as he pushed the boy against the building wall of the deserted side-alley, around the corner from the nightclub.

"What the hell are you doing?" Theodore pushed forcefully away from the brick only to be shoved back with equal strength. He stared confusedly at the heated grey orbs that pinned him to the wall. "Is it the drugs? Do you want the drugs?"

Draco threw the pack of pills vehemently away, as far as it flew into the blackness of the lane, without once averting his glare. "I don't want your fucking drugs, Nott. Since when you do use them anyway?"

Theodore opened his mouth, dithered, and apparently decided to respond truthfully. "Not long."

"Who the fuck sells them to you?"

He shot a glance on either side of the alley and gulped. "Draco-"

The blond tightened his grip on his collar as his eyes roamed down his face. "I asked you a simple question."

"It's me, me, _me_, fuck, Draco, you're suffocating!"

He let go of his collar more in shock, than in pity, and watched, without seeing, as the other rubbed his neck anxiously. Little beads of sweat collected at his raven brows.

"_I_ sell them," he whispered solemnly, with conspiratorial glee shining madness in his gaze.

"You idiot…"

"It's good business," Theo whispered, eyes gleaming, "Draco, come on, I know you wouldn't have told Brian the same if he started drugs."

"Why is everyone trying to tell me what I would or should have done today, huh? What, is Brian a topic exclusively for drunks now?" Draco shouted. "You didn't know Brian like I did, you don't know what he did, you don't know me – and you've no right in telling me what I should or shouldn't do!"

Instead of listening, the boy clutched the blonde's sleeve, repeating words with almost fanatical passion. "I get them cheap, they're the best, Draco, the _best_ – you can't find better here. If Diggory received other drugs, he could have died, you know, but he lives because he got them clean as crystal, the best around here-"

"Diggory? _You _gave them to Cedric?"

Theodore licked his lips excitedly, "Cho said he's been interested in her for years."

"Cho? Cho Chang?_" _Draco spat on the ground angrily. "Your Cho's a slut, Nott."

"Fuck you, Draco," he sniggered in response, grinning madly. "You only think that because Potter's disgraced her completely by dumping her. She's fragile. So beautiful, Draco, you'd never understand. Potter paid by losing her, but he'll pay much more, he'll get expelled, he'll have nowhere to go-"

"You did it to Potter, didn't you? You did it?"

He shivered feverishly. "I only love her, Draco, I love her, that's all-"

Draco shoved him against the brick wall again, but this time aiming for his ribs with a sharp strike of his elbow. "You fucking idiot, Nott," he hissed. "You're a fucking idiot, that's what you are. For doing it, and then for telling me."

Theodore licked his lips. "You won't tell."

"Why, Theodore?" he hummed a chuckle. "Because I'm out of school, where prefect principles shouldn't apply? Because I used to have no sense of justice? Because I treasure friendship?" He leaned closer. "What kind of friend are you, Nott, that you're ready to get two guys out of Hogwarts for selfish motives? Two of our fellow friends?"

"Potter was never my friend; he was yours – your little friend that followed you around faithfully for three weeks. He's all lies, Draco, all fucking dirty lies – he deserves to be out of here. That devil still has an eye on Cho, I know."

"Who are you to decide who deserves what? Maybe I think you deserve to be in jail because of what you did? Maybe I happen to think Cedric and Harry are good guys?"

"You don't know nothing about Diggory – he's not as perfect as he seems," he blurted hurriedly in his defense. "Sources tell me it's not his first test with drugs – and Potter, Draco – he's all lies about his past-"

Draco gave out a bitter chuckle. "Who isn't in this place?"

"Not everyone."

"If you're referring to Cho," he sneered mercilessly, "everyone, who's not revolted by her sick manners, had already had her. She's as easy as they come."

"Shut up!" Theodore snarled in fury.

"I'm saying it simply because she's not worth it: you're risking too much. You'll understand when you're sober, Nott. I'll see you at the Ball."

Flinging him a fierce, meaningful glare, Draco walked silently away, with the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet the only sound in the darkness.

...

A warm, spring breeze whirled the freshness of the air, twirling lazily in the morning sun. It tiptoed silently into the tangled sheets of the bed, somewhere on the second floor of the grand mansion, where a figure lay, dormant, its golden locks sprayed carelessly across the pillow, dark-blond lashes fluttering sleepily.

A knock on the door echoed dully throughout the bedroom, and large grey eyes flicked open, alarmed. White coverlets pulled up to camouflage the strip of pale flesh that had revealed itself during his nap, shamelessly nude against soft silken sheets. Scrambling off the bed, the blond pulled half his blankets and quilts along, twisted accidentally between his feet, heading towards the door.

Dobby stood at the entrance, smiling patiently at Draco's drowsy scowl.

"You've got a visitor, Sir. Mr. Potter says you've planned an exclusive meeting."

Squinting sleepily at the elderly man, the blond managed a plaintive growl. The faithful family clock on the corridor wall announced the time with a proud gong, its rusty hands creaking towards eleven o'clock. Draco hoisted the sheets higher across his torso and straightened his posture, grudgingly trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Tell him I'll be down in ten minutes," the blond snarled and attempted to slam the door, only to have his blanket trapped in the doorframe. He cursed and threw them off completely, stomping into the bathroom, naked and annoyed.

What was Potter doing at his house on a Saturday morning, anyway? They've done nothing but fight lately or ignore each other during classes. Their attitude clearly demonstrated the impossibility of reconciliation, especially when both of them were so equally and infinitely stubborn. And even though he could hardly help the perpetual feeling of excitement and anticipation whenever the raven-haired appeared in sight - those feelings were always accompanied by a bitter scent of disappointment when their conversations were over. They were always the same: the sarcastic comments, the glares, the scarcely controlled loathing that flooded each spoken word. The sparkling emotions in those dark green eyes revolved around hatred and disgust, he was sure – and that hurt just as much as the fact that Draco had to conceal his emotions behind the same mask of revulsion, when all he desired to do was melt in one delightful mass. To touch that spotless skin with his fingers, to run his hands through his thick unruly hair, to feel the softness of his pouty lips – and to know that whatever powerful enchantment he was under was mutual.

Draco shook his head, clearing his mind from fantasies that, lately, were developing from some absolutely innocent desires into something much more sexual. His newly acquired pastime would be marveling in the memories of his handsome masculine body, instead of simply thinking of his sparkling eyes or his pearly smile, which he did on a frequent basis earlier. But now his thoughts slithered down – down that muscular chest, those strong arms, where muscles were visible under that deliciously tan skin; down, through his flat stomach and the dark trail of hair that led to the pivot of his fantasies and wonders. And while the knowledge of pining over something forbidden added to the thrill, it never surpassed his genuine yearn for Harry as an individual. After all, the blond prefect was rarely attracted to something simply forbidden, without its additional shine, with the intention of proving something on a bet mission – the way Blaise often did.

_The higher the love, the lower the fantasies, _Draco snorted in amusement.

Stepping out of the shower, the blond regarded himself in the mirror, dropping his toothbrush in its case. He headed for his wardrobe, picking up a simple outfit to suit his drowsy mood, and dressing in a black turtleneck and velvet grey sweatpants that hang elegantly from his slim hips. On his way out, he slid into a pair of flip-flop sandals and shut his door.

What he wasn't prepared to witness at his arrival into the living room, where his visitor had loyally parked himself – was a handsome boy with a polite smile and no murderous intentions evident from his pleasantly composed features. Suspicious, Draco affixed him with a death glare he obviously had a lot of practice fashioning – with his storm cloud eyes narrowing to slits. The skeptically calm gaze that stared back in response, froze him in guard. It made him feel like a slate wiped clean, devoid of any thoughts; he realized he hadn't prepared himself for a conversation with a polite Harry Potter, instead of an angry devil that he usually communicated with at school.

"You wanted to talk?" Draco asked, his voice still slightly groggy.

The raven-haired pondered for a moment, before nodding. Rolling his eyes, the blond headed to the unofficial master kitchen, barely registering the soft sound of heels against marble that followed behind him in hurried footsteps. He poured a bottle of mineral water into the kettle and got out two crystal mugs, dropping two identical tea bags into them. He didn't bother asking whether Harry wanted tea – he knew which one he preferred anyways.

While the kettle rumbled awake, bubbling furiously, Draco turned to face his classmate, who had seated himself onto one of the high stools.

"Well? Talk, now that you woke me up."

Harry hummed a chuckle. "You're a real pill in the morning, you know."

Draco smiled charmingly, albeit coldly, and poured two cups of strong tea, adding three spoonfuls of sugar to his and a ladle of milk to Harry's. For a moment he contemplated adding one of the detergents into Harry's drink, to make him taste the sourness of his own spiteful medicine. Literally.

_How inappropriate, really, _he thought, permitting himself a secretive smirk.

Placing one cup in front of Harry, Draco sipped from the other one, positioning himself against the marble table, his elbows leaning onto the metallic rail. His gaze met Harry's and for several moments they stood in silence, simply staring, the tension between them almost visible under the simmering surface of feigned civility.

"You can talk, if you have anything to say."

Another cynical chuckle. "Why, your Majesty, I'm surprised you've honored me in such a _hospitable_ manner-"

"You're hilarious. As always. Since when am I so respectably titled anyway?"

Harry smiled into his steaming cup, "Well, why not adopt the public opinion? Everyone tends to think so around here." He cocked his head to the side, with a calculating look. "Come on, you know nobody's in competition with your popularity. Not even Zabini, that extraordinary arse-licker."

Draco shrugged gracefully. "I don't see your point. Blaise is a good friend; a dangerous one at times, but at least he's not jammed on prejudices based on his own pathetic moral codes."

A wide smile crossed his tan face, with its habitual twist that Draco found absolutely irresistible. His green eyes held the same old spark of sarcasm, brilliantly sly and mocking.

"Really? He's not arrogant about his family's financial status, is he?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive position, his brows forming a slight frown. He did _not _like the path this conversation was taking. "Whatever, Potter. You wouldn't understand our methods - your brains aren't baked in the same oven. What's your point anyway?"

Harry looked down into his mug, blinking. "Never mind. I just thought you preferred real friendship."

Draco's eyes narrowed almost mechanically, as a blazing ire lifted its sleepy head from the ancient coil inside his chest. "What I prefer is my own goddamn business," he hissed angrily. "What kind of person are you? You want to dictate my list of friends, when you've rejected _my_ friendship? You call the elite techniques dirty, and then you sneak around behind Theo's back, shagging your Cho Chang – or whatever that slut's name is," Draco murmured maliciously, "I don't know _what _you did with those drugs and how they got into your room, but that's some _shit _you've gotten the school into. You know, for a guy who tries so hard to fade mysteriously into the background – you're way too far from your virtuous intentions!"

Silence.

A couple of long moments stretched into a long pregnant pause – like a simmering volcano on the verge of erupting, or the quiet before the imminent avalanche of accusations that Potter was bound to hurl back. Draco waited for the storm, his breath shallow with anger and the familiar glow of expectation spreading itself about his stomach.

Harry broke eye contact first, looking down into his mug with a mysteriously carefree smile. When he looked up again, his eyes were liquid pools of mirth. "You really hate me, don't you."

The statement caught him slightly off-guard – just like most phrases Potter conjured from the depths of his mind. He only managed to glare, in that odd manner that had people scurrying off in fright at school. It was his equivalent to the sophisticated word "duh" Lavender and Pansy were so fond of.

Harry lowered his black lashes in thought, his fingers fiddling with the empty cup in front of him. His brows were furrowed under the thick black fringe.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Green eyes rose from behind veils of black lashes. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Potter," the blond squeezed out a small whine, refraining from rubbing his eyes until reality dissolved. "It doesn't matter if I do, and why. Maybe it's the fact that you're so inexplicable it's almost inhuman! I can't – I can't figure you out whichever way I turn the puzzle. And I'll never know what sits behind your stupid façade - I've tried searching it in your past, but it's what you are – and then I'm just not sure! I'm not ever sure with you!"

Harry's face looked like he was suppressing the largest of all grins – his cheeks almost bursting with the effort.

"Oh, you think it's funny. You know, forget I said anything," Draco spat angrily.

"Well, you just called me inhuman; I think I warrant a little humor."

"Oh, excuse me, I probably should have called you _righteous_. You scoff at your classmates for being dirty rich, after all, you sleep around with Chang-"

"I don't sleep with her," Harry pointed out, humor aside. "If Nott can't keep her satisfied it's their business, but I don't sleep with her."

"I don't care what you do with her," Draco muttered.

Harry's somewhat wayward grin only swelled, "If you say so."

Draco sighed and readjusted his posture against one of the tables, abandoning his defensive position in spite of their less than amicable dialogue. The weariness in his companion's eyes troubled him – much more than he preferred to admit.

"You know, Potter, you have this talent of taking the conversation to its most unpleasant ends. What did you come here for?"

Harry ran an impatient hand through his tousled locks, "And you have this innate talent of insulting people in the worst possible ways."

Draco's brows creased, "Potter-"

"Fine, just hear me out then."

At Draco's tentative nod, the raven-haired persisted.

"It's about the night you said you fancied me-"

"Alright, no need to bring that up," the blond exclaimed, a scarlet flush blossoming on his pallid cheeks, as he crossed both his arms securely around his torso. "That night doesn't matter."

"It does," persevered Harry.

"We were drunk – I've said some stupid things that were never even meant anything. So _no_, that night does not matter."

"Then why did it change so many things?"

"Because you're a homophobe and I was drunk," Draco snapped furiously.

_Because you're a homophobe and I'm in love with you. Ha, great argument!_

"Because I acted like a homophobe," Harry corrected him quietly. "I acted before I thought and much before I understood. But _you_ have to understand that I've been brought up to hate those things, from childhood I was taught to abhor any abnormality-"

"Jesus, Harry!" Draco gaped at him with disbelieving eyes. "You thought I was fucking disgusting! You refused to speak to me because you were scared I'd make a move on you, or something of that sort! Don't make up some pitiable tale now to cover it up!"

"Draco, I _regret _what had happened that night-"

"Really? Did you regret it when you called me a bitch in the prefect's office last week? When you said I'm just like the rest of them, spitting mud down at people? Did you, really?"

Harry leveled the blond with a glare. "I only came to your office because I didn't want you to make false conclusions on what you saw the other day, and – and," he seemed to choke on his words and closed his mouth for a few seconds, before carrying on, calmer. "Whatever. I was just hoping maybe things would mend by themselves when you'd be in a better mood. But you treating me like I'm the last piece of scum crossing your doorstep didn't exactly flatter me."

"I didn't know my mission was to flatter you," Draco objected darkly.

"Listen, I just want to apologize. That's why I came."

"Oh, marvelous," the blond twirled on the spot to face Harry, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Maybe you wanted me to crawl at your feet and accept your apology like some lovesick puppy? I told you that night didn't matter – perhaps it only served in showing your true self. I told you that I cared for you and you scurried out like I had an infectious disease plastered onto my fore! I don't know how you confounded a confession of a silly schoolboy crush with a striptease of some sort!" Draco shook his head humorously. "You know, you're not far behind the chauvinism of your own highly despised society."

"Fuck, Draco, you know it's not all about hurting your feelings!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes blazing with intense emotions. He rose from his seat and began pacing, his fingers locked into tight fists. For a couple of moments he seemed too engaged in measuring the kitchen tile with large, decisive steps along the polished floor, to acknowledge Draco's presence behind him. A heroic battle of doubts and resolutions transpired on his features, forcing his cheeks to burn brighter.

"Then what is it? What, _what, _Harry, WHAT is it about? Am _I_ hurting _you_?" He nearly screamed, on the verge of hysteria. He had to get out before the other boy's presence would suffocate him. He was so _tired_ of their tag game. Who could hurt first, who could prove a point best, who could strike deeper, who could blame better… et-fucking-cetera! "Am I harassing you, or threatening, or bothering, or assaulting you? Or maybe you think it was I who put the drugs in your room, because I have a grudge? _WHAT IS IT?!_"

"Draco, calm down," Harry took a step closer, but the blond was quicker – he stepped behind the counter to get away from his clawing, beautiful, beautiful hands-

"If you thought I deceived you with the drugs – well, I didn't. So you can take all your stupid apologies and shove them up your arse for all I care!"

Harry's shoulders tensed ever so slightly, as he dropped his hands from the counter in defeat. "You're so stubborn, God, I wish you'd just open your eyes for a second. Ours is a whole different story from my point of view. I wish you'd just imagine what it's like in my shoes at the moment. You know, maybe you were right at the start, maybe you are just a snob!"

"Get out."

He didn't need repetition. Furiously, he stormed out, leaving the front door to slam deafeningly in his wake. At this point, everything that stood so strongly against all reason within the blond, crumbled into petty shards. He was spiraling down the damned chute, falling, falling deep in love, with nobody there to catch him, but his own fears, claws outstretched and sniggering. They were thirsty for another teenage tragedy.

…

Blond hair slicked back, frost-swathed against porcelain skin. A white blouse and a silk, Versace forest-green tie with silver ornaments adorning its sides. A spotless blazer, with the Hogwarts badge glimmering in the lamp above the mirror, attached to Draco's front pocket. Black, polished leather shoes. Every fold of his clothing deliberately styled.

Draco surveyed his reflection thoughtfully. Outside, in the sumptuous halls of the Hotel Palace swirled crowds of alumni, the board of directors of the college, important businessmen and even a number of prominent politicians. There were Seniors from Hogwarts, his classmates, graduates. Upon arrival, the blond noted with amusement that Dumbledore had indeed accepted his plan of decorations, buffet and even the band that now hummed in the background.

Lavender, Pansy, Parvati and Patil, along with a dozen other nameless girls, buzzed from their corners, gossiping. They wore elegant, floor-length dresses, all bearing jewels of ridiculous sizes across their décolletés and slim wrists. He centered their absolute attention onto himself by stalking onto the stage and halting the band for several moments. He picked up the microphone and wielded his brand smirk that had the Hogwarts Seniors roaring with applause.

When the whistles hushed, Draco lifted the microphone to his lips.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 187th Spring Ball of Hogwarts Academy!" His introduction was followed by another howl of clapping from the students' tables. All the adults stared at them curiously, polite smiles of bewilderment playing on their faces.

"Before we begin, I'd like to thank our Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and our student Committee for the thorough organization of this event. But most of all I want to thank all of you here tonight for joining our little community to enjoy this traditional ceremony of Hogwarts! Thank you!"

Another rumble of ovation, and Draco smirked down at the girly cheers that whistled from the front tables. "Alright, let's quiet down," he laughed into the microphone, addressing the students, to which the teachers from the other tables chuckled approvingly. Draco stalked along the stage to inspect the public that he faced – tables that stretched all across the royal Hall. He suppressed the tremor that slithered across his back, leaving slight trails of shivers in its wake and sighed.

"We assemble here tonight, just as tradition dictates for almost two centuries. We're gathered here from all over the world, from all posts and offices one could imagine – and yet all of us – of countless nationalities and cultures – we'll always have something in common. We're all proud to announce that we're a part of Hogwarts." Draco walked to the other side of the stage, directing a smile at his spectators and trying to ignore the fear that simmered beneath the surface. With peripheral vision, he saw as the doors of the Hall opened and Theodore Nott slipped out into the corridors.

"Speaking from the behalf of my fellow classmates, we know that soon, the students in this room will graduate. And although we'll be leaving Hogwarts behind for university life – Hogwarts will never leave us. It's a school for life. And hopefully, we'll be gathering here for years to come, just like tonight. So it is a _great_ pleasure seeing all of you here! Please," he spread his arms generously, "enjoy!"

Swiftly handing the microphone back to the band, Draco descended onto the floor, accompanied by a boisterous round of applause. Ignorant of the stares from the tables around, he headed straight for the doors. Exiting into the corridors, he looked around and jogged across the hallway, afraid of losing Theo from sight. The guy could not get away after their incident last night.

Draco thrust a hand into his locks and ran out of the main doors onto the street outside. Fat droplets of rain poured onto the roads and the dozens of posh cars on the parking lot. But the lane was empty. Out of breath, Draco slowed his pace to round the corner, but had to halt abruptly when he heard familiar voices several feet away. Trying to control his wheezing breath, he leaned closer to the wall, under the parapet of the Palace.

"-I'm not scared, Nott. You can threaten me all you like."

Ah, so there was Nott. And the additional topping on the icing was Potter in a black blazer and a startling red tie, his white blouse undone at the top to reveal a deliciously exposed neck. The blond exhaled nervously.

"I'm past threats, Potter. I warned you; get your hands off her. And shit happens when you mess with me-"

"That's hardly shit, when you come running to confess your guilt."

"I'm simply telling you to get your dirty hands off _my _girl!"

Draco's insides froze as he listened attentively to Harry's answer; he didn't have to wait for long. Nott's intimidating questions seemed to inspire a spark of amusement in the raven-haired.

"You should arrange compromises with her, not with me. If you stop her from scurrying straight to me out of your bed, then you won't have to spend your precious drugs on other guys. On people who're definitely not interested."

Nott's features curled into a scowl. "Shut up!"

"I'm just giving you advice, Nott. Poor bloke, cannot keep one girl satisfied-"

This time a snarl escaped his twisted mouth, "Shut _up_! I swear to God, Potter, I'll have you out of this school! This was only a warning, you cheating son of a bitch! You're confident right now, because you have Draco hovering over you – you can bat your lashes and he'll come to your defense. But wait 'til he sees what a fucking _disgrace_ you are! And he will, I swear to God, he will!"

Harry scoffed, "Not without your help, I don't think."

"He'll see what you truly are! Oh, he'll see, I promise!"

Harry shook his head slowly. "If you touch Draco, I'll personally rip your throat out."

His eyes gleamed dangerously, "Scared that he'll find out all the truth, huh? Scared, Potter?"

"Stay away from my friends," uttered Harry, sincerity replacing his mirth. "And I'll stay away from yours. If you have any."

There was a growl from Nott's part and for a moment it looked as if he was ready to pounce onto the raven-haired with fists and kicks. But the sight of Draco, emerging from behind the corner, cut his actions short. His fists lowered.

"Continue, Theodore. I'm listening."

Harry twisted on his spot and met the blond's appearance with an odd mixture of wonder and relief. For once these days, they weren't shining with loathing.

"Draco – I… we were just having a chat…"

"Maybe you could have this chat at the police station? I have it on speed dial, if necessary." As Draco lifted his phone, Theo's hands twitched nervously. From his menacing position as the assailant he was suddenly encircled, defenseless.

"Don't. Draco, don't. Come on, I'm your friend, always been."

"Were you?" Draco stepped closer to the boy, only to have Harry's hand encircled around his wrist – the contact making him gasp. They were wet from the rain, cold against his burning skin.

"Draco, don't. He wasyour friend," Harry whispered, lowering his mouth to Draco's ear, so that the tips of his drenched locks tickled his neck. To keep control of his hormones at this moment was about the only thing the blond could concentrate on, as he looked up into his eyes. They were infinitely green, adorned by rain-swathed lashes. He was so close, Draco could distinguish every droplet on his brows. He resisted the smoldering urge to touch his skin and that damp black hair.

"So were you," Draco whispered back, pulling his hand back gently. Harry's hands released him unhurriedly, his fingers gliding along his wrists, all the time keeping their eyes locked in a stare. Really, if Nott was to run now, nobody would have paid him much attention.

The raven-haired opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out; instead, his eyes roamed Draco's face. When the blond swallowed thickly, those green eyes flicked to his neck. Wantonly, Draco traced his lips with the tip of his tongue and watched as Harry's eyes rose to his lips, before resting on his eyes once more. The look in them would have made Draco laugh if it wasn't for their proximity – it was as though Harry witnessed an apocalyptic end to his planet, so infinitely lost it was.

"This isn't only your battle," Draco murmured, forcing down his husky voice. He ripped his gaze from Harry's handsome face.

Nott was glancing anxiously back and forth between the two, his face ashen in the darkness. "Draco? What…?"

"You're confessing at the police station tomorrow, Theo. I don't care what consequences there are, but it's time to be honest."

"But – you – can't! Draco, you'll defend _him_?" The boy sputtered indignantly, pointing a shaky finger at Harry. "We've been friends for – Draco, we've been – for so long – how could you?"

"No, how could _you_?_" _

"You don't have evidence-"

"Oh, yes, we do."

It seemed as though the boy was grasping at straws, desperately. "Come on, you wouldn't do this to Brian-"

"Don't fucking push it," snarled the blond, all sympathy vanishing. "If you don't go first, we will. To boot, I can always announce it right now. On the stage. I bet your parents, their colleagues, the board of directors – they would all love the news."

Nott shook his head quickly. "You'll get me out of school? You'll turn me in? Would you? As my oldest friend?"

"Fuck, this is not about friendship! This is about the most basic ethical and moral qualities _you _should possess! This is about justice!"

"What do you know about justice?" Theodore muttered and shut his mouth promptly, unbelieving of his momentary courage.

"Obviously more than you," supplied Harry.

"This discussion is over," Draco declared. "Nott, you're going tomorrow. Or we're going tomorrow. The choice is entirely yours."

Theo sneered, addressing his fierce glare at Harry. "Fuck you!" with this, the boy stormed off, uttering curses under his breath. They heard the slam of a car door and watched as a taxi rolled away from the Palace entrance.

"Well, appropriate exit," Harry muttered. His cynicism seemed slightly out of place, yet Draco couldn't help a smile. He missed the cynicism – but only when it wasn't directed at him.

Draco looked at the other boy, appreciating his elegant guise. He looked delicious – with soaked black hair, his fringe curling at his cheeks and temples, and water dripping from his face into his open collar, glistening against his tan skin. His eyes were pools of soft green, his mouth wet from the rain. His expression, slightly breathless and blushing, mirrored his own. Yet on the inside, he was shaking.

"Draco."

A finger lifted his chin and suddenly Harry's face was much closer than necessary, his breath mixing with his own.

"Thank you."

And suddenly soft lips were on his, yielding and pleasantly wet from the drizzle. Draco's eyes flew open, but all he saw were Harry's shaded face, and his closed eyelids, and he could feel a pair of hands on his waist. The pressure on his lips was gentle, yet convincing in that inexplicably authoritarian, masculine way – and Draco couldn't imagine another way Harry would kiss. One of the hands slithered under his blazer and all of a sudden cold palms were pressing against the nude heat of his lower back. The touch ignited a spark of raw, animalistic lust that the blond tried to tame the entire evening and God, how he wanted Harry - he all but seized the boy before him – his hands twisting in the front of Harry's blouse. He wanted to crush those pretty lips against his own, to feel the wetness of his mouth, the caress of his tongue - and he opened his mouth to invite the tongue that had swept so dexterously over his lips a moment prior. But Harry – and devil damn him for doing this – retired, leaving Draco yearning for more. Desperate. Lustful, thirsty.

His eyes closed and breath uneven, he heard the clack of footsteps that retreated away, back to the Palace. When Draco cracked his eyelids open, the lane was completely deserted, save for his unsteady panting, and the incessant trickle of rain. Just like that, Harry was gone, stealing the last word for himself. And just like that, Draco was alone yet again.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: In response to one of the reviews: yes, I _am _a bloody fast writer and I give your patience orgasmic pleasure! Hahah.. Well, in other words I tried hard to finish this faster than usual, so, sorry for the occasional typos. A huge thank you to all my wonderful readers for all your reviews!! Don't forget to leave me your comments at the end of this chapter. Now, enjoy!_

* * *

Draco struggled to describe his feelings. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the first words that came to mind were either frustratingly annoyed or – well, annoying frustrated. It seemed as though in the last two months his life had turned upside down. Hell, this entire year seemed to turn him inside out. From being the second major, scandalous rascal of Hogwarts Academy, the side package to Brian's mischief, swimming in his father's riches – to being one of the school's most hard-working Prefects. Gone were the times that caught Draco out in the middle of the night in the most luxurious Edinburgh clubs, three sheets to the wind and reeking of Whiskey, with Brian and Blaise cackling by his side. Gone were the evenings at Blaise's cottage with the infamous Adam High-school girls. Gone were their ruthless adventures and trips…

Gone, gone, gone. That door was shut forever.

With the hesitance of a stubborn adolescent, Draco had difficulty accepting the horrors that succeeded his last year's adventures. The entire summer term was spent in anxious expectation, of some stupid revelation, of anything. Most of all the truth. He never assumed his best friend to be a real criminal, besides his minor delinquency, drug use and heavy alcohol consumption. But not one word. Not one stupid letter or phone call. By the time the police had started the investigation, Brian was miles over the horizon. With hindsight, he supposed his politically involved family, with a dense web of relations all over Britain, had somehow dealt with the situation. But despite the bribery and the lies and all the shit, what hurt the most was probably the fact that his closest friend had been the lowest of all cowards. The blond was forced to face disappointment, confusion, furious anger, and a future that held no answers to his cache of demands. Nothing seemed to fit into his mind.

A summer spent in wonder and feeble expectation only proved him wrong. He watched as his principles, his lavish lifestyle, his beliefs crumpled one by one. By the time he returned to school, he had set his mind about his future. He steered the wheel in the right direction, with promises of _never again. _

But, ironically, history repeats itself. Very foolishly, he plunged his inquisitive nose into another mess. This time, it was probably for the best, even though he was quite certain Theo's family could find sums large enough to annul his fair punishment. One could only shrug. These were the inequalities of the elite and nobody, especially not a teen prefect, could alter their ancient ways.

Draco sighed and downed another glass of water. He had returned to the Ball, to find it in quite a state. The band was playing and numerous pairs were shaking to the rhythm on the dance floor. He spotted Blaise talking up what looked like Lavender's blonde sister, Ron spinning Hermione in circles in front of the stage, the board of directors smoking cigars across the hall with their fancily dressed wives and partners, Pansy drinking herself to a stupor with several alumni boys - and no sign whatsoever of Potter.

Of course. Not the fucking enlightening butterfly.

There was some commotion beside the entrance to the Hall in the middle of the song and Draco turned to watch. Then Cedric Diggory emerged from the crowd, grinning from ear to ear – and the blond had to wonder whether the boy had ever looked as dazzling: his ten or so days at the hospital did him good. After several minutes of light conversation on the dance-floor, he sauntered over to Draco's table with one of the Upper Sixth girls and dropped in a chair nearby.

For sometime, the blond argued internally, whether he should leave. There was little to stay for, yet it was unlike him to miss out on those occasions. He was about to stand up, when he heard his name being called. Swiftly, he glanced at Cedric, who leaned across the table to stare.

"You're totally out of it, Draco."

Was his laugh always this deep? Draco realized he hadn't heard it that well before. Or had he?

"Not partying?"

"Out of sorts, I guess," Draco muttered, flicking a forelock away. Absent-mindedly he noted that the girl had gone and damned Potter yet again for messing with his mind – it was entirely his fault that the blond was in this semi-chaotic state. He stole a glimpse of Cedric's pale face and auburn curls, and looked back into his eyes. They blinked tiredly. "How's everything, Cedric? You've recovered?"

The boy smiled humorlessly, "It's about time I should."

Draco nodded, as they fell into a pleasant silence. Both of them watched as the crowd roared and whistled at the beginning of a new song.

"It's been a shitty week," Cedric confessed after awhile, sipping at a glass of juice. He swirled it in his hands thoughtfully. "Big event for the press, it seems."

"They've rather exaggerated it over the days," Draco observed quietly.

"It's quite a pathetic story at the core. Intriguing for some juvenile detective story, but really," he shook his head and paused for a moment. "But in reality, quite dismal."

Draco shot him a knowing look and let his thoughts travel to Nott's threats. He knew as much, at least, even if he had been bluffing about his existing evidence. These reflections got him thinking about Harry again – about that kiss that tingled magically along his lips.

"They all are, those stories," Draco answered after some time, trying desperately to haul his mind off Harry's full lips and dexterous tongue.

His alluring smile was directed straight at the blond, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Well, all you've really got to do is learn from them."

"I suppose that's why we can't witness Draco Malfoy table dancing on these occasions anymore?"

Draco laughed heartily, surprised. He had to admit, Cedric must have despised him quite a bit as a smashed, lavish teenager from years before. They've never been too close at the plateaus of his previous life and hadn't cared to get acknowledged even working under the same office roof. "I'm afraid that's rescheduled for my very own bachelor party. Otherwise, reserved exclusively for the past."

Cedric grinned into his glass, "I must say I'm relieved."

"Yeah. I know."

They shared a glance filled with mirthful, unfortunate understanding. For a moment Draco was filled with a sudden craving to tell him everything that was crawling at his mind for these several days – about Harry and Nott and his undecided sexuality, hell, everything he hadn't once mentioned aloud. But Cedric continued, his voice unconditionally warm, and Draco scolded himself for ever thinking it.

"It's been dirty for Harry and I," he uttered, his fingers still playing with the crystal sides of his glass. "How's he coping at school?"

"Harry?" Draco repeated, shocked and stuttering, he knew and trying in vain to meander his thoughts around the memories of his lips. Damn, it was getting too hard to avoid imagining forbidden things… Draco gulped anxiously. "He's doing alright, I guess. He was here just before."

"I know."

The blond did not like the lingering look Cedric gave him from beneath his auburn lashes. It scanned him for the truth - the one that simmered on the verges of his brain that very moment. As if he really _knew. _Knew whose lips he was remembering, whose masculine touch he yearned for…

"He's a good guy, isn't he?"

Draco snorted and allowed himself a graceful shrug. _That, _he wasn't so sure about. But Diggory persevered, a mysterious smile playing on his face that made the depths of Draco's gut bristle with unfamiliar anger. Smiles connected to Harry were only his to forge, he concluded.

"I knew him from before, when we lived in Bristol. We were elected for a contest, called the Tri-Tournament…met there and then both ended up here. He's been through a lot, that guy."

"Yes, he has," Draco remarked tensely.

Cedric's gaze was speculating, as if awaiting Draco to go on. Speculating in a way that usually had others blushing and turning away from its intensity or snarling at its glee. He didn't like the discomfort it caused, yet he couldn't quite turn away either, fearing for his pride.

It was Cedric who looked away first, with a chuckle. "Straight as ever, though, Harry is."

Draco nearly sputtered his water clumsily and it dribbled past his chin. He quickly wiped his mouth.

"I'm sorry. And you are…?"

"Bent," he grinned his white, daring grin again, but the effect was lost on Draco. He barely refrained from gaping.

"I – I'm…Excuse…my reaction," he murmured, turning away awkwardly. He damned his momentary clumsiness and obvious surprise and damned the world for tumbling into apocalypse so suddenly. This was worse than a soap opera disaster.

Cedric nodded, returning to his glass. A while passed – seconds, minutes, Draco couldn't tell from the constant whirl of thoughts that knocked into his confusion-honed brain. "It's alright, you know."

Draco looked at him again and squeezed out a grimace-like smile. "No, I know that."

"But he doesn't."

_So right. _

Draco glanced back at Diggory and felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips at the warmth that shone in his eyes. How he figured it out, it didn't matter. For some reason, it felt better now that the knowledge wasn't trapped solely in his mind.

…

Draco felt like he hadn't once closed an eyelid during the entire night, and as he looked into his bathroom mirror the thought was confirmed. He was extraordinarily pale and the usually healthy tint to his skin had soured into a sickly green. For minutes he stared at himself in the damn mirror and wondered why everyone found him so alluring. Maybe it was his authority that reigned over people's minds and psychologically forced them into admiring him?

Well, ha, bloody ha. Now he was thinking himself psychologically proficient – maybe Potter and his kiss from hell actually _had _messed up his brains.

Needless to say, he was in a state when he arrived at the police station that morning. He received a coy message from Nott and rushed to get there in time. Potter must have received it as well, because when the blond arrived both were in questioning. Draco had no idea how those procedures functioned or whether they were actually questioned and whatnot, but he decided not to interfere.

He lit a cigarette and paced the cemented front yard nervously. A policeman kept sending him inquisitive glances and he just kept ignoring them, because, frankly, he had no explanation to his presence. Waiting for a friend? Not really. Nott had been a friend once, sure, and so had Potter – but to call them friends this very hour would be simply incorrect. And anyway, he himself didn't know what he was waiting for, so he doubted anyone would.

By the time the back door opened, Draco was on his third cigarette and positively shaking. And then Potter strolled out, looking all loose and relaxed and content – with his fringe pushed back to stand at his fore, making him look like some long-lost Hollywood star. His hair was tousled into a raucous mane and he was wearing _glasses. _He looked completely different, like some – some rich prep from a sixties American high school, lacking a bouncy, blonde cheerleader looped under his arm.

Draco gaped. He was _gorgeous_.

So wrapped in the emotion he barely noticed Harry's approach. He glared at his cigarette as though its smell irked him and his eyes narrowed when Draco took another smoky inhale. "Hey."

"Hey," Draco echoed. He looked around awkwardly.

"It went okay, if you wanted to know," Harry said, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

"Nott's still there?"

"Yeah. In questioning. They'll have to dig deeper, since the only evidence in the whole thing is his confession." He paused and his perusal ran across Draco's slightly dishevelled form curiously. "I knew you were bluffing about having evidence…but thanks anyway."

"You're welcome," Draco replied coldly, glorying in his eloquence. Maybe he hadn't lost his cool after all. He took a drag from his smoke to reduce the awkwardness of their silence.

"So…you enjoyed last night? Seemed pretty cosy with Diggory," Harry muttered.

Either Draco was hallucinating, or his voice was really laced with venom. Disgust even. Such that it made the blonde's blood boil furiously. Was he lurking around the corners spying on him, or what? "Yeah, I did. I didn't know you stayed as long."

Harry ignored his answer promptly. "What are you, friends now?"

"You have a problem with that?"

Harry shoved his hands deeper, as his eyes darkened behind his silver-rimmed rectangular glasses. The scars, Draco noted, were revealed again, and they looked surreal against his tan face.

"No, I don't. I mean, that's how everything starts for you, doesn't it? You're curious. You win them over with perfect friendship and then you fall head over heels."

The blond felt his stomach drop. He didn't think such…such bloody impudence and rudeness and fucking selfishness could ever warrant a reply, and yet the raven-haired continued, as if he hadn't just offended and lowered Draco and classified him as some love-struck twelve-year old girl, crushing after every good-looking guy on the block!

"You do know he's gay."

"Yes, I'm aware, Potter," Draco hissed, mastering his coldest glower. "And if it bothers you so much, maybe you shouldn't have _kissed _me yesterday!"

Harry turned away, refusing to meet Draco's eyes.

"Or did it mean nothing?"

Several seconds ticked by and Harry's face was a blank mask when he opened his mouth. "It was just a bloody kiss, Malfoy, I was just paying a thank you in your personal currency. You don't have to consider it a marriage proposal."

Draco thought he saw red for a second and nearly screamed in rage. "_Fuck_ you, Potter - you worthless snot! Got what you wanted and fuck everyone else! Is that how you operate?!"

He paused his rant, breathless. Suddenly everything tumbled down on him like a bucket of ice-cubes. Potter would never like him. He would never cease to insult his sexuality. And Draco would go insane trying to guess what was going through that head of his. He'd go crazy trying to predict his next word or move. He would never be able to convince him or explain and he wasting both his time and nerves shouting. Words meant nothing to that monster.

Harry was saying something, his lips moving, but it was white noise to Draco's muffled mind. He blinked in realization. It was a strange feeling – mixed with sorrow and liberation and sudden understanding. He should have seen it in the start, should have been less stubborn and stupidly determined and avoided going down that fruitless path.

Draco huffed a chuckle. Stupid, hopeful Draco, thinking everyone had a better side. Thinking everyone stood a chance in what they desired.

Without further ado, the blond pushed past Harry and walked towards his car, his feet like weighty steel carrying him unconsciously. He didn't turn around to witness Harry gawk at his departure, his arms raised in a gesture of indignation. He motioned for his chauffeur to drive and the car pulled away onto the road.

They say unawareness is sweet – but all the time Draco had spent wondering what and why seemed pained; he was still searching for the 'sweet'. And now that he realized the bitter truth, he didn't exactly know what to do with himself.

He got out his cell phone and stared at the screen. His inbox was littered with messages, and he read several. One was from Pansy, saying they were probably going to Charlie's for lunch and asking whether he wanted to come. He rolled his eyes and read the next: it was from Seamus, asking whether he wanted to go somewhere with him and Ron. He gladly agreed.

…

Draco figured he hadn't laughed so hard in a long time – he was doubled over in his seat, almost snorting from laughter. Cedric sat before him, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes as he tried to talk through his chortles. "I told you, I fucking told you!"

"That's – that's," the blond laughed again, passing a hand over his eyes to rub them. He shook his head. He never knew Cedric was such a natural comedian. "That's sick."

"It's true though, you should look at him during break. Old coot and Snape – nice mental image, eh?" Cedric chuckled to himself and downed his drink. They were sitting in the cafeteria during Draco's free period. The older boy was supposed to be having a study period in the library to prepare for one of his IB examinations this week, but they had been chased away from the reading rooms for being inappropriately loud. Harry had also been there, but the blond had done his best to ignore his annoyingly probing glances.

He had ignored him during Math, which nearly had McGonagall giving him two thumbs up from her seat. Ron's and Seamus' company had been a salvation, a refuge from the whole mess. Around them gossip disappeared. He figured the problem with being the most important person in his year, Draco inevitably attracted attention. Pansy was a natural attention seeking whine; Lavender and Blaise even more so. And Potter, naturally, was a potential magnet for trouble.

Frankly, he was quite sick of all the whispers behind his back. During those several days, he also discovered that Ginny Weasley – who had something going on with Seamus, it seemed, was quite a pleasant creature in her own way. Weird, for sure, but pleasant to be around and excruciatingly honest, which by the way, must have been a trait of all Weasleys. Granger would have been his favorite, if not for her sudden interest in Potter. The traitor had associated herself with the enemy. Although, a voice in the back of his mind hissed, he had been the very first to chat up the social enemy.

Cedric smiled as he watched Draco from his seat, with his legs propped up onto another. "You're out of this world when you start thinking, you know."

Draco shook himself out of the trance and smiled back. "Yeah, that's – um, me."

"I heard Nott's been temporarily arrested."

Draco nodded, "Something to do with your case."

"You know, I had this suspicion it'd be connected to him and his girlfriend in the end."

Draco nodded again and feigned oblivious. "Did it, then?"

The other boy's gaze bore into his, with the same meaningful glint. "You know."

"Hardly anything at all."

"Well, yes, it did have to do with Nott. More with Cho, to be honest. She's become one manipulative bitch, I've got to say. Never been so devious before, even when we used to date. Although that was years ago. I wonder why she would plan this shit before her graduation. And honestly, I still don't quite get her goals. To get us out of school?"

"Nott definitely wanted that," Draco muttered darkly.

"But we haven't spoken for years. Don't get me wrong, but I think Harry and she had been on and off the months after their break-up."

The blond snorted knowingly, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure they have."

Cedric nodded thoughtfully, while Draco wondered how truthful Harry's words really were about her. He had assured him they haven't slept together, despite her demands. But then again, Potter said a lot of things.

After awhile, Cedric placed his empty cup on the table and pushed back his chair with a scrape. "I have to go, or I'll never revise the damn Chemistry. I'll see you around, yeah?"

"'Course," Draco smiled and also got up. Their paths split at the exit and Draco headed for his locker. His mood was ruined, for some reason, although he was sure it would have been worse without Diggory's intervention. He wondered for a moment if Harry's phrase about his curiosity was intentional or simply another insult. Was he able to fall in love the auburn haired boy?

He cocked his head and thought for a second. No, definitely not. Not a shade of attraction.

…

After school, Draco found his mother at home, cooking a diet-shake in the royal kitchens and humming under her breath. He gave her a peck on the cheek, grabbed a packet of biscuits from the cupboard and headed to his room. Narcissa's voice interrupted him.

"Honey, how are things going at school?"

"Um, good. All's good." She turned around and gave him a look that clearly meant 'really?' Draco shrugged, "Why?"

"Nothing. Just wondering. How's Pansy?"

"Um. Good." Draco stuffed a biscuit in his mouth and shrugged again.

"She came around earlier. She seemed upset."

He sighed. Trust his mother to always worry about Pansy – after all, she probably thought of them as a couple. Or a possible couple. Or a _probable _couple – or whatever.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She ceased the mixer's deafening blend to stare at him. "She did say you're not as close anymore – something about a new friend. The boy you invited not so long ago, I presume?"

Oh, great. Harry again. Everywhere – Harry, Harry_, Harry bloody Potter!_

"Maybe."

"Lucius did say he didn't think very highly of him."

"Yeah, well, I don't either. At least I don't collect information about his friends and judge them," he snapped moodily.

"Honey, you've got to bear with it," Narcissa opened the blender's lid and dropped a few sliced carrots inside. "You know he's paranoic about our safety. Primarily his, of course," she scoffed, "but at least we _are _safe and sound."

"No, mom, you don't understand. He's got a_ lot _of information on Potter – it's abnormal."

"Oh, no, don't worry about that. He's practically got books on the Parkinson family, and on the Browns. Leave alone the Zabinis. Blaise does seem like a lovely boy, though, doesn't he?"

Well, obviously she hadn't read the files, or else she'd know how much of a good boy he really was.

"He does?" Draco skewed his face into a grimace, imagining the sort of things he could find in those files. Maybe he collected information on his son too. As mirthless as the situation was, the thought of stalkers made Draco stifle a laugh.

"Oh, of course, honey. It's rather amusing – I find such stories about _my_ friends' lives in his files! I used to think he collected them for personal interest, which _was _scary. But that's a safety kink of his, what can we do."

That left Draco curious for the information that lay in the depths of those folders – what could repulse Lucius as much as to actually ask his son to break off all relations with a friend?

He mounted to his room that evening, after promising to resolve his problems with Pansy, of course, and climbed onto the roof with his album, the packet of biscuits and a pack of smokes. He missed those afternoons in solitude.

After a night's sleep – strangely tranquil after so many sleepless ones – he left for school to catch Pansy before class. As promised, he planned to sort out their problems. Frankly, he didn't think there were many problems to sort out. People drifted apart, right? So what if he preferred the company of less class-ridden and gossipy people? If she wanted to stick to him as much, she should have tried a little harder. After all, she chose other boys' company at the Ball too.

Inside, though, Draco knew why he was finding excuses for their lack of contact. She probably thought he was stealing the guy she liked away just to have her single. And, in point of fact, that was quite true. He had been so infatuated with Potter that he had stomped down their friendship to have Harry all to himself. And Pansy probably didn't even understand his strange behavior.

Not that he would ever confess either. There are some things better left unsaid in a frail friendship.

When he arrived to the Entrance Hall, he was greeted by a surprise. Pansy sat at the benches, crying, with Hermione's hands soothing her back, while Blaise lingered around, looking sheepish.

He dropped his bag and approached Pansy, crouching beside her. "What's up?" he mouthed quietly to Hermione. She shrugged and continued her soothing massage.

"Panse?" He placed a hand on her knee and waited for her response. She only sobbed.

"It's okay, hey," he hushed. "Shh, it's alright. What happened?"

"B-Blaise is an _arse," _she whined and snorted tearfully.

"We all knew that," Hermione muttered, glaring at said boy.

"He-he got his freaking p-payback!"

He and Hermione exchanged glances and then both looked at Blaise for an explanation. He scratched his fore and looked away. Draco rolled his eyes and returned to the weeping girl, who hid her face into her hands. "Panse, shh, it's okay."

"Blaise looks awfully guilty," Hermione noted thoughtfully.

"Y-yeah, he should! Arsehole!" she shouted at the boy, lifting her head. Her tear tracks were highlighted by the stains of mascara running down her cheeks. She clutched Draco's hand and hauled him closer, leaning towards his ear. "Draco, h-he told Harry everything. I…Blaise…w-we slept together and then – then he went to Harry and told him everything! And you know what Potter said? H-he said he already liked someone else!"

She wailed and collapsed onto Draco's shoulder without warning. He stared at the tresses of her hair awkwardly, as they brushed his cheeks and chin. Hermione shot him a sympathetic glance – she heard every single word, because Pansy hadn't been trying too hard to whisper.

"You know what," Draco murmured into her head, "forget about Potter. Or Blaise. They're no good for you. You're worth so much more, Panse."

"Yeah, you know what, I _am_!" and she raised her head so fast, she actually hit Draco in the chin. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!"

_Honey_? Yeah, they were okay. But who the hell did Potter like now?

He pushed himself off from the floor, watching as Pansy hugged Hermione. He edged towards the exit and towards Blaise, who shrunk his head into his shoulders guiltily. Personally, all he wanted to do was thank Blaise for getting Pansy off Potter's back, but duty called for a more sophisticated response. As he watched Pansy award Blaise with a glare and shuffle away with Hermione in tow – he gave the boy a clap on the back and said, "Not the best idea, Blaise."

And walked away, leaving him bewildered.

…

He didn't plan to talk to Potter, he honestly hadn't. He had lasted the entire school day without so much as a word about the raven-haired. But it seemed Harry had a set of plans that strictly contradicted his own. He figured Potter had serious problems. For a guy who was straight as a needle, he dangled on his sleeve a little too much. He kissed boys and had emotional rows…any other indication to his problematic state would be futile.

Now Potter had tracked him down after school hours during his Prefect Duty, checking on the lights and blinders before locking the Academic Section up. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he closed his locker and on the other side stood the object of his recent musing – all tousled hair and large green eyes. This time without the glasses, though.

"Are you going to ignore me forever?"

Draco suppressed the urge to slam the locker door in that all too familiar face and, instead, arranged his expression into a sneer. "Are you going to stalk me forever?" he echoed.

"I'm not stalking you!"

"Then I'm not ignoring you. Conversation over?"

Harry's face was the image of indignation. "No, it's bloody not!"

Draco sighed tiredly. He wondered if he had involuntarily signed up for a lifetime of nerve-racking conversations when he first started talking with the boy and somehow forgotten the deal. Most probably. "Listen, Potter, it's better for both of us if we just ignore each other. You know, like a big collective no-talking game."

"Why do you suddenly decide what's best for me?"

"Well, let me think," Draco pretended to ponder on it, before nearly shouting, "because I do, and if I wish to ignore you, I'll just fucking do it!"

"You can't just, after everything-"

"Watch me." And Draco, for the second time in several days, pushed past Harry to walk away. Only this time, his hand was suddenly grasped and he was being pulled back to the row of yellow lockers.

"Don't be a coward."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you. I seem to remember someone kissing me several nights ago and then running away to puke his brains out because he realized he touched a homosexual!"

He'd said it with such spite that his face ended up a bit too close to Harry's and his eyes a little too sparkling, and his voice cracked in the middle – like a dry wooden rack. And it seemed to have a similar effect upon Harry, who gulped the air between them breathlessly, with eyes as wide as saucers. And then he whispered, right onto Draco's lips,

"What are you doing to me?"

What the hell _was _he doing?

"I'm not…doing anything," he breathed and, hesitantly, tried to wrench his hand away, only to find it clasped in Harry's. The raven-haired looked like he didn't have an idea of what he was doing, his eyes glassy as he leaned closer and pressed his lips onto Draco's.

That woke the blond up and he cringed away, tearing the kiss apart. "No, Potter."

Harry looked like a child lacking a tooth to suckle on his favorite sweet. "Why?"

Draco opened his locker again, only to have something distract him. Harry just tried to kiss him _again. _There was a big problem. "How about you tell _me _why you just kissed me. I thought last time meant nothing?"

His words sobered the boy up, and color rose in his cheeks. He shrugged.

"What, do I have a magnet on my forehead saying 'kiss me, I'm gay'?"

Harry muttered something incomprehensible.

"I'm sorry, translation?"

Harry sighed and fidgeted with his sleeve before blurting out, "I don't want you to be friends with Cedric."

Draco blinked. And then blinked some more – because he didn't think he could manage anything else. Why the hell did people think they could choose his friends for him? And what in Devil's name did Cedric have to do with their kiss?

"What?"

"Cedric's gay."

"So?"

Harry's cheeks bloomed with color and he pointedly looked away. "Never mind."

Draco was dumbfounded. "Are you _jealous_?"

Potter didn't grant him a response, but Draco didn't think he could stop his rant once he had started anyway. "You are!You _are_! Did you fucking think I'd run away with Diggory once I found out he's gay? You think I'm some sort of slut with no principles, or-"

"I never said that."

"Why do you always think so lowly of me? You thought I'd jump you the minute you found out I fancied blokes – now you think I'll…" he paused and gulped, the meaning of their conversation dawning onto him in slow motion. "You're jealous. Why are you jealous?"

Harry's stare was directed straight at him. "Do you still like me?"

"What? I – what? Why would that matter?"

"Because it does."

Draco dropped his gaze and thought for a moment. Nothing made sense anymore. "Listen, Potter, don't complicate things. Let's just go back to our lives, find ways to ignore each other and act like we've never met."

"No."

"Fuck, Potter, you piss the shit out of me! Do you even think before talking? Are you gay, or what?!"

"No."

Draco was reminded of their first conversation, when Harry showed knowledge in only one word, "no". it was an annoying game.

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?"

Before Draco could close his mouth, he was pinned to the locker wall with his hands grasped in two strong palms. Harry was kissing him with his mouth open and his tongue swirling against Draco's. He was forceful, opening his mouth to thrust his tongue in exploration. It was raw, it was sexy, it was heavenly – and Draco yawned wider to accept the caress. Their tongues danced together.

Two hands pressed into his lower back and then slid under his shirt. The material pushed up willingly and their kiss was interrupted as the shirt was shrugged off his shoulders. In his frenzy, the blond barely noticed as his own hands tugged at the edges of Potter's blouse and soon it was peeled off, revealing nude flesh. It dropped to their feet soundlessly.

"If this is some pity fuck, Potter, don't ever let me know," Draco breathed.

Harry chuckled sharply, sending shivers of delight to Draco's groin. "Want you so much."

"That – that makes you gay."

Draco gasped as Harry's erection ground against his and a reply was hissed into his ear.

"I don't give a flying fuck."

Draco's fingers shook as he fumbled with Harry's zipper impatiently. It wielded when Harry applied pressure with his hands and instantly Draco was moaning because their fingers brushed - it felt fucking electric. Harry's fingers dipped into his pants, unfastening the buttons one by one with foolish trembling.

A choked mewl was all Draco managed as Harry's palms enveloped his cock in a steady rhythm. He was moaning as Harry's mouth caught his and wound his tongue around him, pushing his head back against the lockers. Suddenly, Harry was grasping his hand and guiding it towards the bulge in his underwear, wet splotches adorning its sides. Draco's hand soon wrapped around his lengthy shaft, already shamelessly soaked in precome; he gave it several strokes, before increasing his speed. He was suddenly aware of Harry's incessant, mindless muttering against his lips, as he bucked his hips to match Draco's strokes. He licked them boldly and received the hungriest kiss in his life, as one hand abandoned his groin and tangled into his blond hair, tugging it forcefully. He felt Harry's masculine power in that clutch, in the strength of his muscles beneath a silky highland of skin.

"So close," Draco moaned again, not caring for a moment about his careless display of emotions. He was trashing and moaning and quietly begging for it with his mewls and Harry was no better with his gasps and bated breath, rubbing against his hands.

And then in a matter of seconds, it was over and Draco was staring into a sheet of colorful spots behind his eyelids and he came and came and came into Harry's palm. He felt Harry's shudders against his chest and felt warm liquid splotch into his hand. And only when Harry, sated and breathless and stained with their come, twined his hands around Draco's waist, the blond knew that there was no way going back.

Ever.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed. I think you're the only ones keeping me writing this story. Otherwise I would have succumbed to laziness and the torturous obligation of classic literature. Thank you! Enjoy this chapter, every letter is for you._

* * *

In the frenzied impulse of his body and his emotions, Draco had not realized what had happened. Several minutes prior, his body denied the pull of gravity on account of the sheer, electrifying pleasure of his orgasm; it shook him to the very core. Now he had awoken melting into a pair of masculine arms, with his palms tightly wound in Potter's rough hair. His trousers were shamefully unfastened at the fly, and the strip of underwear revealed was tainted with stains of cum.

The realization dawned onto him, like a hoard of boulders tumbling down from the ceiling. He managed to skew his eyes shut, as he prayed – prayed to God that the boy he held so closely to himself wouldn't bolt from the circle of his arms. Of course, knowing Harry, it would only be a while before he did so.

But then again, with Harry Potter, you really had no clue what came next.

His breathing was still ragged, but so was Harry's, their chests heaving in accord. He thought that perhaps, just perhaps, if he could master enough courage, he could say something – something proficient enough to summarize his state of mind. But it was hazy with the aftermath of pleasure and his brain's logical contours seemed to diffuse against his will. His traitorous mouth could only produce enough coherency for a satisfied sigh, which slipped past the moment he parted his lips. Slowly, Harry's eyes opened, coming to rest on Draco's, and Draco tried anxiously to read the bundle of emotions that lay on their green surface. A mirror image of his own bliss was all he found.

And then – and _devil_ damn it thrice – somewhere to their right, a door slammed shut. It was thunderous against the softened silence of their presence – louder than an Inquisition Horn, deafening, horrific. The bubble of their blissful pretence burst and with it, the illusion of privacy they had created in the comfort of their embrace. A glint of sheer panic sluiced over Harry's face and instantly, Draco felt himself catching his fright. With a cautious glance to his right, he saw a figure standing beside what Draco supposed was the door he had slammed seconds before. Squinting through the dimness of the light in the corridor, he tried to distinguish the silhouette; there was something familiar about this threatening pose, and this posture, the straightness of which could be mastered only by two people from Draco's immediate clique-

Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape.

His heart performed a miraculous lurch, falling somewhere beneath his stomach. To his utter horror, he was facing his godfather with his fly undone, and trousers hanging open at his hipbones – with a _boy. _His very Malfoy essence was crumbling to a mould of ash.

He thought he died a little of mortification.

Slowly, as he heard Harry fumble with his fly, Draco buttoned up his trousers. His shirt slipped on next. He tried to ignore the stickiness on his hands, or his battering heart, or Harry's fingertips accidentally brushing his wrist.

"Potter, get to your dorm."

The voice held no hint of anger, but Draco knew better. He had known the man from childhood – he knew what crackled beneath that façade of indifference. He also knew how closely related his principles were to the ones of his father.

Reluctantly, Harry withdrew. But he did so unhurriedly, purposely infuriating the school Professor. Only when he took a step back did he rotate on his heel, and, just as leisurely, he walked down the corridor. Never looking back. Without so much as a word to the blond.

When his steps dissipated into silence, Draco was left staring, rather stupidly, onto the locker wall ahead, fighting the urge to take off in a run - and never come back.

_Oh, God, oh, God, I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm _fucked_, _his mind chanted, ridiculously repetitive in its conclusions.

He wished the earth really could swallow people on the brink of total humiliation. He knew his cheeks were uncharacteristically red and, unconsciously, he wiped his sticky hands against the front of his trousers. There really was no end to his embarrassment.

And then Severus spoke and his voice was very much unlike the holler he had been awaiting:

"Go home. I will shut the remaining doors."

The blond chanced a glance at the man, through a set of lowered lashes. His crooked nose left a shadow on one side, accentuating the many distorted features of his face. But his expression revealed nothing.

Draco opened his mouth – and promptly lost his voice. He wanted to beg Snape to keep this secret from Lucius, he wanted to ask whether he was disgusted, whether he had disappointed his expectations – though through the fog of thoughts he had to wonder why he even cared. He wanted to say all those things to reassure his growing worry. But he couldn't. Pride really was a strong weakness. So he simply shut his mouth.

He was prepared to take his leave, when he heard Severus's voice call again. "Draco."

He whipped his head around. Pathetically, hopefully, and he knew it. "Yes?"

"Make sure you know what you're doing."

For a moment Draco didn't believe what his ears told him. Only after several seconds did he finally compose himself, stepping away from the locker block. Stiffly, he nodded.

With nothing to add, Severus turned on his heel and strode towards the last cluster of classrooms at the far end of the corridor. Draco ducked his head and walked out of the Academic Section, cheeks blazing. He could _not _believe just how grandly luck had thwarted him.

Or rallied it all round. He genuinely did not know.

…

Getting through the night was utter hell. Draco woke up in blistering sweat every several hours, legs and arms tangled in his sheets - horrified, aroused and utterly confused. He had to slither a hand beneath the blankets each time and come all over again, in the stuffy darkness of his bedroom, to the sound of his own ragged breath. Never had anyone impelled such blind lust within him as Harry had. Never had anybody kept him up until four in the morning, trashing in memory of an orgasm. Not one night with the girls from _Imperia_, not one girl he had bedded in his proud seventeen years. Nobody. They had been slick and wonderfully tight and whimpering, but never so powerfully masculine, with that distinct smell of manly cologne and apple-flavored shaving cream, and so purely- purely-

Harry.

They weren't Harry. None of them were so infinitely beautiful. None of them had that irresistible expanse of muscle beneath tan skin, or the charisma of emerald-green eyes, with a flash of which Draco could melt into a puddle at his feet…

The blond damned teenage hormones. He was hard again and there was nothing he could do about it, but press a palm into the bulge of his school trousers beneath the desk. Pansy sat beside him, sweetly clueless. The guilt should wreck Draco, for sure, but he could not even feel a prick of regret about last night. And the fact that Pansy was mourning over something he obtained only intensified the thrill running down his spine. It was wrong, it was ugly. But it felt good.

To his gratification, he hadn't met either Snape or Harry that morning. The fact that this was his first class of the day was of course a major drawback, but it soothed him for now. Although, if the day would bring him nothing but those damned arousing thoughts - he could already foresee a grand migraine coming. God, he needed coffee.

"You look exhausted," Pansy whispered with a meaningful smile.

Draco fought the blush; instead, he produced a smile of his own. "I am."

She giggled. "Been busy at night?"

"Very."

"Who was she then?" She leaned in, her eyes curious. She had obviously spent too much time with Lavender, for the scouting for gossip obsession had wore out on her just as well.

"My Math textbook," Draco lied smoothly, without a wink of his eyes. Pansy burst into a fit of giggles. Of course she would, it was Pansy.

His eyes flickered towards the clock, calculating the minutes left until the end, until he could grab some coffee. Perhaps he could pump his blood with caffeine and hence brace his mind for enduring Harry in Math class. He had a nagging suspicion that all he could really do is pray for patience - no caffeine was strong enough to prop his nerves against the boy's illogicality.

The clatter of the bell from the school address system caught him off guard, abruptly ripping him out of his anxious musings. He threw his books into his bag and swung it across his shoulder. Ron, Seamus and Hermione were waiting for him at the threshold and Pansy dangled on his sleeve-

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco turned towards Mr. Flitwick questioningly. "Sir?"

"Could you spare me a second?"

"Why, of course." The blond shot his friends a reassuring look and walked back into the centre of the classroom.

The short Professor cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the stacks of documents before him. To Draco's secret amusement, he was seated on a pile of cushions, making him seem vastly taller than he really was.

"Mr. Malfoy, as you may have heard, the English department is staging a literary challenge at Hogwarts. It is for all age categories, Seniors included." At Draco's nod, he continued hurriedly, "Well, Mr. Malfoy, with your position – well, popularity with the pupils at Hogwarts - I was wondering whether it would be possible to – to ask you to promote this event as much as possible within our community."

Draco grinned amiably. "You want me to advertise?"

The Professor seemed discomfited for a moment. "You may name it so."

Draco nodded in response, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. "No problem, Sir."

"Thank you, Draco. And I do urge your last fiction piece to be submitted. It was simply marvelous."

The blond nodded in thanks and stepped back, ready to depart, but the Professor leaned against the desk once more and more quietly, added, "And I do wish you the best of luck with the upcoming vote. I have every confidence you shall become next year's Committee President."

Draco grinned again. "Thanks."

Flitwick nodded, flustered. "Well, off – off you go. You'll be late for class."

With a warm farewell, Draco jogged out of his English classroom. To his dismay, he hadn't had any time to get the required coffee and now he was late for McGonagall's class. He felt his heart perform a circus trick in his chest with the thought of Harry. Anxiously, he wondered if he would be as cowardly as to skip class, or seat himself with someone other. Those thoughts caused both his pace and his heartbeat to speed up.

After a knock on the door, Draco walked into the classroom. The first pair of eyes he met was Harry's, as the boy looked up from his seat. They were green, and restless. The blond averted his gaze and proposed his apologies to McGonagall, before heading to the back of the room. Gingerly, he placed his bag on the edge of their desk and, just as cautiously, sat down.

Instantly, he was enveloped in the familiar odor of Harry's cologne and his distinct, indescribable aura. He felt as though he was sitting on a sheet of needles, and the air between them crackled with tension, intoxicating. He could almost feel Harry's determination to avoid his gaze, as the raven-haired pointedly stared at the black board. And for God's sake, he _never _paid attention to class before, leave alone McGonagall's scribbles on the blackboard. It was a pathetic strategy of evasion.

The blond felt anger bubble up in his chest. He knew this would happen, he _knew _Harry would deny everything that has happened between them – why on earth was he so disappointed? Why did he even allow himself to hope for a better reaction? Why on Earth had he awaited a miracle from Harry fucking Potter?

A hand on his thigh awoke him, and he glanced down. It was Harry's hand, tenderly grasping his leg. He swallowed a gulp of surprise and turned to stare at the raven-haired – only to find his face very, very close to his own. Draco's gaze flickered down to those devilish red lips and he felt his breath speed up, involuntarily.

"Hey," Harry breathed.

And just like that, Draco was impossibly aroused again. He tried to control his breathing, now coming in shallow, silent pants. He tried to avoid thinking back to yesterday, and how well Harry's dexterous hands had handled him. He tried to avoid looking at those lips that tempted him with luscious sins. But he found that he couldn't. His eyes glazed over, and he knew, were they not in public, he would have spread his legs right there and taken in anything this enticing semi-god desired. He would give anything for those hands to touch him again.

In a haze, he realized Harry's eyes were roaming his reddening face with growing appetite. He looked like a famished predator, whose prey was sprawled across his knees, and his cheeks were coloring with want. For long moments, they stared into each other's eyes, each in battle with his emotions. Trying desperately not to pounce.

Hands shaking, Draco reached out and removed Harry's hand from his thigh. He could not even imagine the things he was capable of performing if Harry's palm remained where it was placed. It took enormous strength to do so; slowly, as he ripped his eyes away from Harry's hungry stare, Draco felt his lust dampen. He quelled his trembling and ordered his mind to take control. After moments of forced breaths, his vision ceased spinning.

Only after a couple of minutes was he able to think clearly. He glanced to his right and found Harry watching him openly – but neither knew what to say.

The rest of the hour ticked by in a mist of thoughts and quelled emotions. The moment the bell rang, he bolted upright and almost ran for the exit. He felt embarrassed and lustful and ridiculous at the same time; he didn't know what he was doing, but he needed to get away.

_Coffee - _ah,yes, he definitely needed coffee.

Swiftly, Draco walked out of the classroom, down the corridor and towards the senior common rooms. His legs carried him there without his mind's official consent, and he could not remember how many people he had bumped into, or how many asked whether he felt fine. He didn't grant one answer, but one thing he knew for sure was that he was _not _fine, not at all.

Only when he had pressed all the buttons on the coffee machine in exasperation, he felt more at ease. He glared at it for several moments, listening to the sound of sizzling milk pouring into his cup.

_How the hell did I allow myself to become so easily controlled by lust? _

Spontaneously, and rather angrily, Draco kicked a table leg. Then he cursed colorfully.

"What's with the drama?"

Draco spun around, momentarily forgetting the pain in his toes. Cedric stood by the entrance, a plastic cup of tea in hand. His smile was winsome.

"Nothing," the blond muttered, retrieving his drink. He looked around the rest of the room, and to his reassurance, it was empty.

"I wouldn't have asked if it weren't for the obvious symptoms of hysteria, Draco."

The blond huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but instead of replying, he gulped his coffee. When he was done, he poured himself another mug.

"Go easy on the coffee." Cedric walked towards him with the same charming smile he always wore – a smile Draco found somewhat comforting in the midst of his utter confusion. It made him want to smile back.

"I'm just…a little frustrated," Draco murmured.

Cedric's grin turned suggestive. "Need help relaxing?"

Draco laughed again. "Depends what you mean by relaxing."

If it was possible, Cedric's grin grew larger. "Usual procedure – massage and sexual intercourse."

Draco started for a second, his smile frozen. He was unsure of what to make out of that comment; Cedric looked completely serious. But then, that was impossible. Wasn't it?

"I-"

"Don't think that's appropriate," sounded a voice from the door Cedric had left open. Draco felt like hammering his head into a nearby wall: people really just couldn't resist barging onto his _every_ conversation, could they? Was there at least _some _respect for privacy in this goddamned Academy?

It was Harry. He was standing by the door, grasping the handle, his eyes narrowed. He looked delicious, even now, with his black hair tousled and his tie skewed to the side, and glare directed at the auburn-haired. For a moment, Draco felt pity for whomever was at the receiving end of Potter's anger – it was quite frightening. But Cedric didn't back down; instead, he smiled.

"Harry."

"Diggory." The raven-haired smiled back, too tense to appear genuine. "Can you leave us for a minute?"

Cedric shot the blond a look of pure pity – for a reason far beyond Draco's comprehension – and walked out, shutting the door softly in his wake. The silence that settled between them was heavy and artificial, and made Draco wince. He suddenly missed his ability of smooth banter.

Harry was silent, simply staring. Of course, Harry would be like that – he would dance around the topic, playing on his nerves, before actually getting to the point. It was so characteristic that the blond had difficulty restraining his laugh. First to go, then. "Why did you follow me here? What do you want?"

"A question I was about to ask _you_." Harry answered. "And I thought it was me you wanted. But now, I'm not so sure."

Draco raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You seemed alright with Diggory just a minute ago."

"I – what? Are you at it again?"

Harry ignored his question, as he took several steps around Draco's circumference. "He seemed eager to get some. Maybe you should've just let him have it."

Draco stared at him. The voice that came out was Harry's, alright – but it was with a tint of arctic heartlessness. It aimed to hurt – before Draco could hurt him first. It was a defensive tactic, wasn't it? Just like many of his clandestine techniques. To harm before being harmed.

"Oh, Harry." Draco shook his head, almost unbelieving. "You're so _jealous_ of him. You're scared he'll get what you want."

Harry looked like he was gritting his teeth. Well, Draco had definitely hit a nerve. For once. So he aimed blindly, groping for the truth in his bluffing accusations – and he prayed for it to be true.

"You _want _me, Harry," he whispered his conclusion.

He hadn't anticipated the reaction he received then: roughly, he was pushed against Harry's chest. And then, in two elegant strides, Harry had him pinned to the table. The coffee machine toppled over behind him from the sheer force of Harry's body colliding against his; several cups tumbled to the floor, as the table legs swung dangerously. But the rest of his thoughts were swiped clean as Harry's mouth found his and their lips crashed.

There was no need for words anymore. There were Harry's lips and tongue, seducing his. They were wet and eager, tempting the sensitive spots of his skin. It had the blond huffing a breath of pleasure, and gripping the masculine shoulders in front of him. Sometime in between his licks, Harry's knee rose to spread Draco's legs apart. Stretching his hand back to feel the surface of the table, Draco sat on its top and pulled the raven-haired closer.

"You're right, Draco," Harry whispered, catching his earlobe between his front teeth and nibbling tenderly. "I want you."

The blond opened his mouth to say something in response, but Harry used the opportunity to suck his tongue in. Draco moaned, arching his back into the welcoming warmth. He spread his legs wider and pushed up, meeting the thrust of Harry's hips.

"I've been dreaming of fucking you," Harry breathed, rolling his hips forward, knowing exactly how his dirty words rendered the blond _wild_. The blond all but trashed in the circle of Potter's muscled arms, feeling shameless, and submissive - it made his head spin with sheer pleasure. Blindly, he reached for Harry's fly and gripped his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He felt it in his hands – hard as steel, hard for him.

His climax came unexpectedly, washing over him in a wave of growing pleasure – it swept him off his feet for several moments, as he threw his head back and _moaned_. He didn't know what exactly triggered Harry's release, but he felt him stiffen and shudder seconds later, before drooping against him.

Draco closed his eyes and cursed inwardly. This wasn't supposed to happen now, or _here. _And he wasn't supposed to be feeling giddy on the inside, warm and sated. He wasn't.

Breath still ragged, Harry leaned back and, without meeting his gaze, buttoned his trousers. He grabbed several tissues from the coffee table, and awkwardly, glanced up at Draco.

"I'm missing class," he murmured. And as if sensing how tacky that sounded, he winced, and pushed a hand through his mane, to rub his nape.

Draco shrugged, "So that's it."

Harry glanced up again, frowning. His gaze was questioning.

The blond managed another feeble shrug from his position. "You're just…going."

Harry glimpsed at the door, to which Draco motioned, and back at the blond. He looked as though Draco had just asked what planet they dwelled upon, and couldn't figure out whether to tell him he's stupid, or simply leave. Smiling, in that notorious, mocking manner again, with laughing eyes and a superior quirk to his lip.

"It's not like I'm not coming back."

Draco sneered at him, as he pushed away from the table. He picked up the coffee machine and placed it back to where it belonged. Idly, he wondered why they hadn't been caught doing – whatever they were doing. He lost track of the seconds that ticked by, as he tried to quell his anger, and too soon he heard the lock click open and the door close behind his back. When he swung around, he found the room completely empty. Harry had left.

_Whatever, _his mind told him sternly. _You don't care about him._

But he did, he did too much. And now there was something foreign stirring in his chest, carving a niche at the very core of his chest. It hurt. For some inexplicable reason, it hurt. Perhaps Draco had thought he finally won Harry over – he got him to himself. And when he was in his arms, he truly believed so. But at times like these – like now, he knew how wrong he was. Harry was unattainable, too distant and impossible to tame - he would always slip past his fingers when he thought he knew him best and flip his uglier side for exhibition.

But then again, that was Harry.

…

"I locked the door when I left," Cedric confessed, once Draco joined him at lunch. His face announced quite clearly that he knew exactly what Harry and Draco had been up to behind that closed door. Snorting, the blond shook his head. Either Cedric was a genius, or simply very perverted.

"Yes, I wondered why we hadn't been caught in the act."

"You'd be surprised," the auburn haired answered, through a mid-mouthful of bread and salad, "but few students actually use the common rooms during class time. With the IB exams, everyone is either in the caf or the library."

"Except you, strangely," Draco felt a grin tug at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, I'm an exception at most times."

"I'm not too shocked," Draco replied and obtained a swat on his arm. After a few minutes of stupid grinning, the blond dropped the humor and eyed Cedric seriously. "How's it going with the police case?"

The auburn-haired shrugged with one shoulder, "I don't think we're part of it much, anymore. You must have heard that Nott's parents are considering leaving the country." At Draco's gaping expression, Cedric nodded eagerly. "Hogwarts is experiencing a repetition of last year's; Brian escaped his sentence too, didn't he?"

Draco's eyes closed. He breathed in deeply. When he opened them, he found Cedric's understanding gaze upon his face. "He did. Fled England."

"I'm sorry."

The blond huffed a chuckle. "For what? He's history."

Diggory asked casually, "Were you together…?"

"No!" Draco laughed at that, for some reason. The mental image of that was pretty hilarious, after all. "No, I… I wasn't…before Harry."

Cedric nodded, somewhat thoughtful. A few minutes passed in silence, as Draco began his meal. He saw Hermione and Ron approaching them with their platters.

"The couple of the year," Draco chuckled. For some reason, Ron blushed more violently than Hermione – perhaps it was a question of red hair and sharply accentuated freckles – anyhow it was rather amusing to watch their expressions break into identical, shameful grins.

"Hey, Cedric," Hermione greeted, giving him a kiss on the cheek and sitting beside him on the bench.

"Are you going for Committee this year?" Draco asked Ron.

Ron nodded. "I suppose you'll be running for President?"

Draco shrugged. Hermione piped up, exasperatedly, "Draco, don't be silly! You're the best candidate for President, everyone knows that. Besides, I do hope the system of Prefects will soon be abolished."

Ginny arrived in time to hear the last phrase and she almost dropped her plate on the luncheon table, with a clatter. "Are you serious? I thought you loved it!"

Ron and Draco sniggered, earning a glare from the righteous brunette. She crossed her arms across her chest. "As a matter of fact, I think the two systems clash rather awkwardly. If they choose to introduce the Committee system this year, then they should definitely do away with Prefects and Monitors. Since the Committee is elected by the democratic popularity of students, while Prefects are appointed from the bureaucracy-"

"My God," Ginny puffed, "I've never heard so many sophisticated words in a speech about school Prefects."

Ron smacked her on the back lightly, with a laugh. "Shush. Hermione's sophisticated speech isn't finished yet."

Hermione gave Ron a look of such affection that Draco almost swayed in his seat. A surge of wonder, laced with a foreign stirring of envy, filled his chest. He caught Cedric's eye and was, too, caught off guard by the warmth he met in them, directed straight into Draco. Awkwardly, the blond turned away. He had to question his emotional stability that moment.

"I think Dumbledore wants to get rid of Prefects," Ron nodded. "You get too many duties aside from schoolwork, it's slightly unfair."

"But then teachers will have to brace themselves for a vicious pro-student campaign from the Committee. After all, it's the most popular students who will be elected – out of five hundred."

Draco nodded. "Who do you think will become our female President? Hermione, perhaps?" he asked with a wink.

Ginny frowned. "I'm thinking Lavender, or perhaps Morena."

"There are seventy people in your class," Cedric commented with amusement, catching Draco's eye again. "I think there's enough to choose from."

"Seventy three," Draco corrected with a grin. A battle of playful glares ensued.

"Where's everyone going for vacation?" Ginny asked, stuffing a fork of pasta in her mouth. Her question broke their glaring contest.

"London," Ron answered, his gaze lingering on Hermione, with a tenderness to match hers. They reached across the table and interlinked their fingers.

"London it is," Ginny muttered, smirking at them. "I think I might be going to Seamus' for a while. Sweet Ol' Ireland. Plus Bill and Charlie are there for their University trip."

After a round of whistles, Cedric leaned back in his seat. "Tuscany and then London."

"St-Tropez and then London," Draco echoed, smiling. As the conversation averted to vacations, Draco leaned back and surveyed his circle of friends. His gaze darted to the teacher's table and he caught Snape's eye, unpredictably, and much too early for comfort. The memory of last night, as the silhouette of his godfather, outlined by the faint light of the corridor, watched him from the dark cavern of his eyes, was too fresh on his mind. But he held the challenge nonetheless, for several moments, his heart battering at his pulse point. And then Severus did something, quite unexpectedly: he nodded his head and, if it wasn't a trick of sunlight, his perpetually pursed lips seemed to soften at the edges. And then he looked away, perfectly regal and aloof in his posture.

_Why was he smiling? Might it be that he is also queer? _

Draco shook his head gently. No, Severus was straight, even with his few failed relationships with equally sinister women in the past.

_Might he be glad that I'm taking a different route than my parents' altogether?_

Draco looked away, thinking. No, if he wanted to take a different route, he would have pursued the path of an artist, just as his heart desired. But he wasn't as strong or independent enough. He needed the financial support of his father and the guarantee of eventual success, much more than a petty chase after spiritual fulfilment. One way or another, he would break free of his father's shadow. What he needed for that was a good knowledge of this world and enough resources and relations to assure a personal triumph.

He met Hermione's gaze across the table as he scanned the hall again – she was thoughtful, reserved, watchful. Below the nominal sophistication of her words, shimmered a flame of curiosity, directed right at Draco. It was as though she was trying to penetrate through his mental barriers and into his thoughts, to analyse the pensive mask he wore and yet knowing that she couldn't, and looking too curious for her own good, Hermione gave him an amused, albeit poorly suppressed grin, and a silent promise of further research.

With a smile so honest, she let Draco know that _she_ knew_. _And for the second time, despite the wildness of it, Draco didn't seem to mind.

…

"Again?"

"Yeah, my parents are out of town and I'm inviting everyone for a pre-graduation party at my cottage. Come on, Draco, you have to come. It's a must."

Draco sighed, as he balanced the mobile phone between his ear and shoulder, fishing out a pair of keys from his pocket and fumbling with the chains to find the right one. In his second hand he held his Lacoste school bag, which dangled awkwardly from its single strap.

"Listen, Blaise, I don't know. We'll see."

"Oh, come on, man – Draco, there's no fun if you don't come! We can…"

The rest of Blaise's words melted into a blur when Draco stepped into the living room of his house. Along the immensity of its walls, in a neat row, stood paintings, sketches, colorful canvas, all framed in stylish casings. No, better yet – or worse, really, it was hard to tell – they were all Draco's works. Aligned against the walls, with the furniture pushed back – there they stood, under the white light of their living room. And circling about them were several people, holding notebooks in their hands and identically critical expressions on their faces.

"I'll call you back," Draco muttered into the phone, disregarding the muffled response he obtained. Dropping the folders onto the coffee table, he advanced into the middle of the majestic room, knowing his face must look outrageous. He didn't care. There was something that preoccupied him more. What the _hell_ were these people doing at Malfoy Manor?

"Hello, may I help you?" Draco called as he approached a woman and man next to his ultimately favorite painting – the heart of a white, blossoming lily. It was, despite its pastoral nature, one of the most gothic works of his – since the leaves had gashes of blood running along them.

The woman whirled on her heels, frowning at first, but losing her criticality once she caught sight of him. "You must be Draco Malfoy! Why, you're the image of your beautiful mother!"

"And you are…?"

"Oh silly me," the woman squealed, "my name is Silda Totkim. Assistant manager of London Calford Gallery."

Draco nodded politely, "A pleasure, madam. Is there anything I can-"

His mother advanced quicker than he could complete his phrase – looking airy and absolutely joyful in a sky-blue ankle-long dress. "Draco, darling, you're home."

"I am."

"He looks a bit clueless," the man standing beside Silda chortled.

"I am," Draco repeated, now eyeing his mother questioningly. What was this circus?

"We're here to inspect your work, Draco, before accepting it into our Gallery."

The man turned to view the collection of paintings. "Your Mother was right – you are quite a talent. We've never had anything like this in our gallery. Yet."

Draco turned to Narcissa, barely refraining from gaping. So many questions raged through his mind. How in the hell did she get hold of his latest works at school? How the hell did she get a real gallery to come to the Manor, personally, to look at his work? But most importantly: _why_?

"There's nothing more bitter than seeing a talent wither under hostile influences," Narcissa murmured mysteriously. A small smile played on her lips – somewhat alien to her usual powdered and composed façade. There was something soft about it – it betrayed the gentleness of a woman that lay at her very core, obstructed from the view of simple mortals. For the first time, Draco witnessed something akin to wisdom in her eyes. Needless to say, it left him quite speechless.

"I – let me show you around," Draco suggested determinedly. With a final look at his mother, a mouthed thank-you, a mutual smile, and a thrill down his spine – he was off to show the pair his remaining works.

…

The next several days flew by in a strange staccato rhythm, leaving behind only hazy memories. They were days of perpetual anticipation and tickling nerves. Only on Tuesday did the Gallery call back, and it was with good news that they did so. This summer, one of the Gallery's halls welcomed Draco's works. And considering the amount of tourists swarming London in the summer season, his talent was bound to get noticed by someone grand. The mere possibility made Draco's head spin.

With all the events at home, the Gallery's positive reply and his mother's coy support for his art, the blond barely had any attention to spare for school. Harry tried to catch his eye, a little too evidently perhaps, but Draco refused to meet his. He didn't quite know why – it surely had nothing to do with principles, simply because he'd developed none when conversing with Harry. Day by day, Harry seemed a little more frustrated. Impatient for something. His hands would tremble slightly when sitting at Math – but stubbornly, he refrained from saying anything. His eyes would follow Draco's every move – unconsciously too, perhaps – and the blond would ignore it victoriously. By Tuesday afternoon, his heart and mind had contradicted each other so many times, filled with so many intrigues and questions and dubious answers, that he promptly forgot to ignore Potter when the raven-haired dropped on his seat at Math.

The latter all but gaped at Draco's casual greeting.

"Talking to me now, are you?" he asked.

Draco snorted. "Excuse me for having a deja-vu – this moment is a little too familiar."

Unexpectedly, Harry's face melted into his typical, mirthful smirk. "Isn't it?"

"Two months ago, we talked for the first time. And still, I feel like I don't know a thing about you." Draco confessed quietly.

Harry shrugged elegantly. "More than others."

"Honored," Draco drawled sarcastically. He met Harry's cold gaze and told himself sternly not to flinch.

"You don't open yourself to me either," Harry murmured under his breath, as McGonagall began her lesson at the board. "A closed book."

"Only because you never wanted to open it."

Harry grimaced. "Are we really talking metaphors?"

"Are we really _talking_?" Draco mimicked him coldly.

Harry awarded him with a glare and turned back to his curly writing. Only after several minutes of heavy silence, he settled for a remark, "You don't need to talk to have a relationship."

This comment only served to ignite Draco's ire. "Yeah? And what do you suggest we do? Fuck silently?"

Harry didn't reply, choosing to stare blankly at the board instead. Indignant and angry, Draco permitted himself to huff and curl his lip in disdain. The feeling of anger gnawed at his throat with acidic bile, until the very last second of the lesson. When the bell rang and McGonagall dismissed the class with a wave of her hand, Draco shoved his books into his bag and bolted out of the classroom.

He had only covered several metres, when he felt someone tug at his arm. He attempted to shrug it off, but failed when Harry only used these several lost seconds to jog closer.

"Come on, Draco!"

The blond finally managed to rip his arm away and reeled onto the other boy, eyes narrowed. "_What_?"

"If you want to talk, let's talk! Just don't run away!"

"Fuck off, Potter – I'm not in the mood for your crap."

Stubbornly, the raven-haired took hold of his arm and began pulling his down the same corridor. It was filled with a crowd of middle-years, who stared up at Draco in awe. Out of pure duty and the ownership of a Prefect badge on his school jumper, Draco refrained from kicking Harry in the groin and marching off. He thought, if he were to draw a sketch of himself that moment, he definitely pictured steam gushing from his ears.

Harry led him all the way to the Seniors' Common room again. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, facing a deserted room.

"You know how hard it was for me not to fucking punch you right now?" Draco hissed.

"You should have."

"To have my position as Prefect threatened? No, thank you."

"You should have. Act on impulse," Harry whispered spontaneously, his eyes catching a glint of passion. "Act upon your caprice, Draco. Do it now."

Draco stared, blinking. In his wonder, he had shed a few layers of anger that previously plagued him. Were he to lift his fist, he wouldn't find the strength to hurt Harry.

"I'm not a wild beast to kick and scream," he muttered. "Besides-"

And Harry did it again – caught him off guard, by bluntly plastering his lips against Draco's. Before plunging his tongue in, he whispered against the softness of his lips:

"Like this, Draco."

And pushed his tongue in, grasping the back of the blonde's head. Draco struggled for a few seconds, pushing at his chest – but found it too difficult to resist any longer. He retreated earlier than Harry wanted, though, and triumphed in Harry's breathless gasp. But before he could express his satisfaction, the door pushed open behind Harry's back, suddenly, and, two people walked in, talking. Two upper-sixths entered, Xavier and Hendro, if he wasn't mistaken, chatting about their exams. They noticed Draco first, who had jumped miles out of Harry's arms.

"Hey, man," they greeted, grinning.

"Hey," Draco smiled, pushing a hand through his locks. The two eyed him curiously, and dismissed Harry, who had decided to pace along the other side of the room now. It was all too fast for Draco to take in, and his dignity and pride were somewhere in the pit of his stomach, shaking from sheer fear.

"Good luck for the Committee votes, Draco," Xavier said.

Draco nodded absent-mindedly, his heart still pummelling in panic. "Thanks."

It took them full five minutes to get coffee; they exited, still chatting animatedly. Harry pretended to stare out of the window, his hands deep in the pockets of his school grey trousers, while Draco shut the door softly in their wake. For a few moments, only silence reigned between them.

"Harry."

Harry hummed without turning around.

"Turn around."

Harry shoved his hands deeper and Draco heard him snort to himself. "Why should I?"

"Are you doing it again?"

Slowly, Harry revolved on his heel, to stare mockingly at the blond. In his eyes swam pure, green mirth. "Doing what?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "Being a bitch."

Harry's expression remained unaltered – perhaps became a little more amused, if that was physically possible. It annoyed the hell out of Draco, this coldness, this abrupt aloofness. Tiredly, he sighed. "Why do you do this? Why are you so fucking cold to me?"

For a moment, a glint of panic filled Harry's eyes, but it was gone before Draco was sure he'd seen it right.

"Stop it, Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to hurt me either."

Harry frowned at him, as though he was pathetic. "This is stupid – Draco, I'm not aiming to hurt you. I'm not _doing _anything."

"You know you are. Stop it. I know you want me."

"And what if I don't?"

This, out of all, shocked Draco most. Suddenly, the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle began forming a clearer picture. Suddenly, there was a logical pattern to Harry's reactions. Suddenly, Draco had a little hope that this once, he had understood.

"You're still disgusted, aren't you? Disgusted that you let yourself be seduced by something as obscene as this? As homosexuality?"

The same panic rose in his green eyes, and they darted towards the door for a split second. Draco was sure now – he had hit the heart of the issue. Finally.

_He's so scared of falling in love with me. Scared that he'll become something different from what he had planned for himself – something obscene, an abomination of his principles. So scared that if we talk, he might genuinely like me._

_And sex is the safest and most pleasurable way out. No obligations. Just physical gratification._

Harry's face blanched slightly, but he stood proud. "If I was disgusted, would I kiss you?"

"Yes, because your body craves for it." Pointedly, his gaze swept down to his groin and he felt relived that he did leave some effect on the raven-haired. "But when your mind switches on, you don't want that degradation. Tell me I'm not right, Harry. You _know _it is."

Harry glanced away. Somewhere in Draco's chest, broke another chord of false hope. He _was _right.

"I won't let you mistreat me this way. It's either your body _and _mind – or nothing at all. Until you know which one it is…" Draco shrugged as elegantly as he could master. "I cannot give you either of mine."

Harry stared at him, stumbling across words. "You're – so it's-"

"We have the summer to think. We'll have enough space to understand the feelings we have for each other – if we have any at all."

At that phrase, Harry eyes snapped towards Draco's. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it some time later, speechless.

"Until then…" Draco sighed and glanced back towards the door. He wished it was open; it would have been easier to walk out that way. But as it was, he just had to make that last step. He was tired of running after Harry. It was his turn to make the last step before an eventual union, now. But for now…

Draco shrugged. "Well, I guess it's goodbye."

* * *

_Please review._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: __Hello, my lovely readers! Thank you to all those who review. You always succeed in making my day brighter, remember that. And I'm giddy with the thought that I make some of you stay up at night, reading… ;)_

_Otherwise, the story is almost coming to an end, folks. __There isn't much left to endure, by my imaginary calculations. _

_But f__or now, enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter 8_

* * *

Draco had never been quite so indignated in his life.

It had all started at the very beginning of his holidays, when he left for St-Tropez. The day before, he suffered a breif, albiet teary farewell with the Upper-Sixths at their graduation prize-giving in Edinbrugh. To make it as ceremenious as possible the Headmaster invited several celebrities, notorious amongst all ranks of the British political hierarchy – he guessed well that the poncy seriousness of an event like this attracted the media as honey buttered on a bee nest, as much as it attracted fat wallets with possible donations to the school's further development. Not that Hogwarts needed development of any kind, of course. It had the limits of all necessary exceeded years ago.

Draco's anticipation climaxed half way through the ceremony, when he was summoned onto the stage and crowned President of the school's committee for the upcoming year. It had been a pleasant surprise. What he found even more pleasant were the ripples of applause that spread about the hall, beginning with loud hoots from his friends and ending with appraising claps even from the most modest parents present. He had absolutely everybody's attention when he approached the microphone and thanked the entire student body for voting for him and deeming him worthy of their choice. Although, quite frankly, no matter how noble he attemtped to sound, he didnt really care whether he was worthy of each and every choice made in the Academy. What mattered most were his friends. He could already see their faces glimmering with pride, in the midst of others that blanched in envy.

He didnt even get past the doors of the Great Hall, when he heard the all-too-familiar voice call his name.

"Congratulations, Draco."

That was all Harry really needed to say – the rest was in his eyes. There was wonder and sharpness and yet an odd absence of the characteristic smirk that usually tainted his face. Under that stare, the blond felt like a butterfly pinned under the net of a hunter, unable to escape a curious scrutiny.

And yet butterflies were usually beautiful, Draco reasoned, while he could hardly consider himself that, with the slender paleness of his complexion and a lack of an exotic spice that made Harry look so appealing. He was too pointy to seem handsome but a little too manly to look pretty.

Lost in those wonders and submerged in critical self-analysis and musings about his decision to take a significant break from Harry Potter, Draco drove away from Hogwarts. The same day, he had his bags packed and his father's jet ready to take him to France. But, as he knew now, Draco shouldn't have even dreamt of receiving the absolute freedom he hoped for when the aeroplane landed in Nice. He should have shed those empty hopes on his way to St-Tropez, in the limo his father had ordered – because, really, they all amounted to nothing. He was stupid for thinking he had a summer all to himself, with nobody to trouble him.

After all, trust a Malfoy to always get bundled up in public and familial scandals.

But he was blissfully unaware of that tradition when he stepped onto the porch of his aunt Bella's manor, crooned over by at least a dozen servants. Knowing Bellatrix's yearn for indipendence – perhaps the only similarity that bound the two relatives together – and for privacy (mostly to shroud her unusual interests from the eye of the public), Draco supposed she would leave him enough space to do whatever he desired.

Or whomever he desired.

And he did. Oh, he did. St-Tropez never thwarted him with its variety of people – most of them possessors of gleaming cars and indignified numbers of credit cards, which of course, considering the Malfoy financial situation, weren't granted first priority in his choice. No, Draco chose carefully and let himself be wooed in the most seductive manner. It didn't matter that all of these were boys.

He couldn't decide on it for a long while, thinking it was a low way to indulge his curiosity. And somewhere in the back of his mind whispered a voice that sounded very much like Harry's, warning him. But damn it, he could not avoid the nagging suspicion that Harry was most probbaly hooking up with other people – Chang being a likely candidate for his affection – and that he wasn't wasting his time missing the blond. It was only fair that he got his share of enjoyment out of the month he would spend abroad. Plus, the curiosity for _how _it's done with boys drove him to endless wonderings. And even though he was never quite alone – he met a great number of Hogwarts alumni partying in St-Tropez as well as new, fresh faces from all over the world – he felt like he was sent to another planet for a rest. It was nothing like Edinbrugh or London or the brutal British countryside.

After about a week full of acquaintences, late night celebrations and sleep-ins in the mornings, Draco got the hang of the regional timetable. In addition, the amount of new people he'd met gave him a huge range of possibilities of new experiences, including pretty boys his age without a care for shame or sexuality.

It was always a teasing foreplay that he'd never quite reached with Harry – but never the sex. As much as it seemed pleasant, or, rather, as much he was persuaded to finally do it, he could never shake off a slight pang of guilt and an image of Harry lurking behind his lids. All the hours he spent with the three boys he had gotten intimately acquainted with, he had spent hoping that if he opened his eyes to the caresses, it would be Harry's face that he saw. But each time, it was a feeble copy – either the tan French boy from Nice, or the handsome bottle-green-eyed one from Norway, or the boy from some elite Swiss college with hair as black as charcoal. But it was never enough.

To his frustration, it proved a point that Draco was reluctant to admit before. He really _was _attracted to Harry for reasons deeper than his looks. His perpetual enigma, or the hope of an eventual possibility. Perhaps even the fact that Harry was distant from the rest of his clique, which satisfied his clandestine possessive instincts.

He probably should have never succumbed to his inner curiosity, by enlightening Harry with his feelings.

_I should have stayed away from him in the first__ place, if I ever wanted serenity in my life, _Draco concluded wistfully. _But then, I'm not sure how much longer I would have lasted with serenity as the basis of my routine. _

So much for serenity. It was a notion now completely lost, as he stood in his Father's office, positively fuming.

He arrived here – in the modest city of Biarritz in the South-West of the country, to a villa his parents kept for summer work. It had an open view to the ocean and an atmosphere of comfort capitals and business centres couldn't offer anymore. Although, his arrival had very little to do with business. He was summoned by his Father for a 'talk'. Apparently Draco's daring improvising in St-Tropez hasn't gone past Malfoy Senior's notice. Furthermore, it had been a group of private detectives who spotted him with his 'acquaintences'. In other words, Lucius paid a group of professional detectives to track Draco's activities in St-Tropez and God knows where else. And now he was telling him to stop whatever silly adventures he had explored.

Needless to say, Draco was left _livid. _

"There is very little I can say to a son who'se curiosity isn't sated with normallity, but to cease whatever perverse interraction you've been involved in lately."

Lucius leaned back in his armchair, as nonchalantly as though their conversation was focused on today's weather.

"Do you agree?"

"No!" Draco replied in indignation. He had to shut his mouth to refrain from gaping. His father had even avoided _saying _the word 'homosexual', so much was he intimidated by it – or perhaps by the possibility of its realness. In his head, Draco chanted the word as many times as he could.

Lucius raised a brow. "Perhaps I have not made myself clear?"

"Father, you can't ask me to stop whatever I'm doing. It's what I am. It's my-" Draco spread his arms, trying to find appropriate words, and yet still completely _disbelieving_ of the nature of the conversation they were having, "my orientation!"

"Don't be ludicrous. Orientation has nothing to do with this. It's momentary and it will pass – like every disease that passes with correct treatment."

"You think it's a _disease_?" Draco exclaimed. His eyes bulged so much from sheer surprise, they hurt.

"Do not act shocked," Lucius hissed, now more rigid in his seat than before. His legs have unfolded under the table restlessly. "You were aware of this when you've decided to indulge your sense of curiosity. Now that you have, it's time to avert to more adequate activities."

"You aren't bloody joking?" Draco muttered, more to himself than to his father. "You hired a group of detectives to spy on me and now you're trying to intervene in my private life?"

"This has nothing to _do _with private life, my son, but a reputation you're required to uphold as a man. It applies whether you are a Malfoy or not. It is natural that you wonder-"

Draco almost sizzled. "I do not wonder! This is more serious than you're obviously prepared to imagine-"

"Ah, with your pretty boys perhaps, and their perverse ideas? You walk around with that knowledge in your head and you're not _ashamed,_" Lucius snarled, now letting his fist hurtle the polished cherry surface of the desk, causing a slim booklet to topple to the floor. There was a moment when Draco was sure the entire set of tomes and documents would drop from under Lucius' fist with a tremendous crash. Only after a moment did the man compose himself, his fists unclenching. "Let the shame come to you in the wisdom of my advice, son."

"Your advice?" Draco scowled, as he tried to slow down the current of angry thoughts in his head. "It is not advice you offer, but a command you expect me to obey!"

Lucius's front creased in a frown, and his eyes took on a darker glint as he watched his son. "I pity you, for you don't wish to understand what grief a child with such tendencies brings to a parent."

Draco snorted humorlessly. "Simply because you're intolerant of it, and so were your parents, who taught you to despise abnormality. It might not be your fault if your parents infused you with absurd prejudices from childhood-"

Lucius waved an impatient hand, as though he was able to dissipate Draco's words before they reached his ears. "Do not speak ill of my parents. They have done well in raising me." He paused and then added, "Better than I have raised you, evidently, for I have disregarded this foolish weakness of yours."

"_Weakness_? A weakness, Father? It is not a _weakness,_" Draco almost shouted, unable to keep his emotions at bay anymore. "It's a choice I've made for myself, as an independent person!"

"You are no independent person, Draco, despite what your self-importance claims – you're still a child, and a mindless one at that," the blond man spat.

"Yes, legally. Perhaps. But I am perfectly able to make choices for myself and adapt to the consequences. Especially in my private life, which you had _no right _to disrupt.

"Moreover, Father, I am incredulous that you do not have trust in my ability to control my own decisions, since you've done so much to _instruct _me," he mocked, sarcastically. "Isn't it funny that a so-called child should be teaching his parent of tolerance!"

"Tolerance means nothing!" Lucius barked, now looking impatient and irritated at the same time, as though annoyed with Draco's stating the truth. His voice was heavy and each of his words tumbled like a threat. "If tolerance is what they teach you at the Academy, along with other pathetic notions that they like to call humanitarian, then I am not deeply shocked at your ignorance of the real system of society. Do not for one mere second think you are teaching _me_. You have yet too much to learn before you can show such arrogance."

Draco circled the carpet that surrounded the bureau in the centre of the room. He thought of leaving this conversation behind, as offending as it was to his pride, because he did not want to infuriate his father to the point where the man was consumed by fury and quite unpredictable in his actions. But the words, words that were never uttered aloud before and that were crushed somewhere deep in his chest – words that were contained in broken objects thrown in a fit of anger against the wall - bubbled up his throat and he was incapable of stopping their escape.

"I might have much to learn, but I will do it on my own terms. I have been on your short leash for a very long time," Draco continued, in a voice Lucius had to strain to hear. "Your choice is not my choice. The program you choose for me may not please me as it does you. The career you wish me to prusue is not the one I may want."

Draco nodded with satisfaction at the green tint Lucius's face adopted and the way his lower lip was screwed to the side, twitching. He looked astonished – as if only Martians wanted something other than what he desired himself, and Draco was one of those astounding aliens.

But then Lucius opened his mouth to reply and his voice was calmer than the thunder Draco was awaiting.

"I am doing it for your own good, because you are incapable of seeing what succeses lie ahead of you."

Draco growled and stepped closer. Even so, in the distance between them could have laid another person – though most likely, he or she would have been burnt by the tension that crackled in the air.

"I am not you, Father. I have other successes lying ahead of me – ones that I will master myself. Nor am I my sister, whose life you constructed without the need of her batting an eyelash."

"Then perhaps you think you've achieved everything by yourself?" Lucius roared, raising himself out of his seat and towering above his wooden desk. His lips were bared, revealing teeth that should have belonged to a bloodthirsty beast, tearing his victims to shreds. His palms, clamped into fists, descended onto the desk again with a dull thud. "You think you would have made it into the Academy without my financial help? Or maybe you think you were always smart enough to excell at school, without the private lessons I paid for, so that I wouldn't have a _failure_ for a son?"

Slowly, the man straightened to his full height and stalked, in slow, deliberate movements around the desk. In all his brave defiance, Draco had to admit there was the charisma and absolute authority of the Malfoy patriarch behind each step Lucius took.

Powerful. Terrorizing.

"Or perhaps you think you would have been as valued in our society after what your little friend Brian performed last year? You think after the rumors in our community that _you, _a Malfoy, were involved in the same crime that filthy rag has committed – you still would have made it into Prefects without my authority in the Board of Directors? Do you sincerely think so, Draco?" His voice lowered into a hiss as he came to a halt in front of his son, eyes glinting as though bordering on madness. "Your popularity may have gained you the post of President this year, but remember that popularity means very little in the face of _real _life. Power, respect," he exclaimed, suddenly roaring and startling Draco into a shudder. "And the strength to use them to your advantage. That is what matters."

"Using them to manipulate other people's lives, you meant?" Draco snorted, watching as his father's eyes clouded from his rambling. "Because surely, you've got the strength and desire to control people who surround you – track them down, spy on them and then manipulate them into submission-"

But the rest of his words died out as the surface of a large palm slapped against his cheek, whipping his head to the side. It was strong enough to leave a distinct ringing in his ears and a frantic beat to his heart – and he choked on his breath as he tried to swallow his idnignation.

When Draco deemed it safe to twist his head back into position – supressing thoughts of betrayal and anger and defiance and even a wish to hurt back – he glanced up at the blond man in front of him. His chest was rising quickly, his cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed; clearly, he experienced no shame for what he'd just done.

"I will not have a son who is an abomination to the Malfoy name," he hissed.

Draco surveyed Lucius's face for a moment, ordering his muscles not to twitch from the sheer _anger _that pierced his guts. When the man's glare did not diminish, but flashed with something akin to suspicion and disgust, Draco lifted his chin higher and said, in a voice clear of any emotion, "Then you will not have a son at all."

He knew that he had done well, albiet dramatically too, and that the dryness of his tone was one much valued by Lucius himself. But, as he exited the office with his back turned on his father and onto his failed attempts of a dignified response, he decided he didn't quite care what Lucius thought of him.

Not anymore.

...

When Draco arrived in London the next day, he nearly had a heart attack. Not only had his father annulled his credit cards, but he had ordered the hotel he usually resided in to refuse him a room without the consent of his parents. Whether he did it to emphasize Draco's age, or whether he wanted to force Draco into obedience – didn't really matter. What mattered most was the fact that he had nowhere to live and practically no money to spend on finding a place to live in. He thought of asking his mother for money – he was pretty sure she had hundreds of thousands of pounds on her numerous accounts – but the pride, which he had most likely inherited from his own father, forbade him to do so. It was a battle of son against father and he'd be damned before he knelt down and swallowed the crap Lucius tried to feed him.

Besides, he felt he owed Narcissa for organizing the exhibition at the gallery and honored very much the attitude she displayed for the past two months – almost of a caring mother. Almost. He hoped she wouldn't tell Lucius of the exhibition, for surely it would spell an immediate end to it.

Instead, he decided to ask his friends for help. If Lucius really thought his popularity meant nothing – well, he'll just have to prove that having real friends substituted having money at times like these.

He thought of Hermione first, much to his later astonishment. Then, of course, he had to remind himself that Ron and she were spending their summer together, and probably wouldn't be overjoyed at the prospect of sharing their romantic experience and flat with anyone else. He remembered Pansy next, but she had written several times, saying that she was enjoying her summer overseas in Greece; meanwhile, Blaise, if he recalled correctly, wanted to spend the whole summer in the States.

Amid the current of thoughts, he caught the wondering glance of the receptionist who had just refused to grant him a room to stay in, and flung a heated glare in her direction. He knew it wasn't her fault – Lucius was to blame – but she _could _have been a little gentler with her rejection. Because now he had a maximum of a thousand pounds in his pocket, which was horribly insufficient for someone who planned on proving to his millionaire father that he could live perfectly well and alone for a month of his holidays, providing a living, food and whatever else he required by himself.

He swore, berating himself for his stupidity. Silly of him not to foresee this move of Lucius's; he should have taken the care to remove as much money as the limit on his credit card allowed him to and _then _depart on his wonderful adventure in the wilderness of London, with a wallet full of cash. In his frenzied rush to leave Biarritz, he never gave the possibility much thought, and trusted that at his arrival in London, he would be pampered with the same respect and adoration he usually was with his Father around. Sheraton had their family on the VIP list and could let them spend several nights without immediate repayment, which was what he aspired for when he came in.

Draco sighed and walked out of the hotel. The arsenal of questions on his mind – from why he had been as _stupid _as to rely on the credit cards Lucius controlled, to where was he going to spend the night, without having the necessity to squander much of his money – didn't give him the chance to concentrate on where his feet were taking him. He only realized that he was actually _walking _when he passed the sign that read: _Piccadilly Street_.

He blinked and turned around. Several two-storey buses rolled past, flashing images of the British flag; there was a couple of teenagers on the second floor who cooed, and waved at him and other bystanders from their seats, giggling to the point of insanity. Draco rolled his eyes and continued walking, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets – and he was almost across the road when someone nearly knocked him down.

"Watch where you're fucking going," snarled a familiar voice.

Draco had the urge to yelp when he recognized it – either with happiness or with despair, he couldn't quite decide. The eyes that met his widened for a moment before a similar reaction sluiced over the man's features.

"Draco! What the – mate, I'm sorry. I just crashed right into you!" laughed Cedric, with his charming grin that Draco had missed so much during his month away. He hadn't even realized he missed it until now.

"Watch where you're fucking going," the blond mocked, unable to quell his own smirk. "Ever the courteous little boy."

"Ah, ah," Cedric clucked his tongue. "I'm older than you, do not forget."

A car signaled from behind them, its driver hanging out of the side window, shouting something obscene their way. Draco suddenly realized they were standing in the middle of the road, simply talking, and swiftly, he pulled Cedric to the footway. He laughed. "I didn't know you were in London yet."

"I didn't know _you _would be coming early from your holiday either."

_And what a holiday it was, _Draco snarled inwardly.

"It's a long story," he muttered aloud.

Cedric seemed too busy looking Draco over from head to toe to deliver an answer. "Nice tan. St-Tropez, I reckon? How was it?"

The thoughts of his father rushed onto his mind again and he wondered how he could have forgotten. He lifted a hand to push the forelocks away from his face. "I'm in so much crap right now because of fucking St-Tropez."

The auburn haired boy had one glance at his expression and seemed to understand there was little humor to back it up. He quickly checked his watch and looked around, "Let's go to a café or something, you'll tell me all about it. What do you say?" At Draco's shrug, he fumbled with his back pockets. "Give me a sec though, I'll just phone Chris, tell him I'll come later."

Draco raised a brow. "Chris?"

"Yeah…" Cedric held his mobile to his ear, a slow grin reappearing on his face. "He's… pretty. Says he's from the States, but I'm almost certain he isn't – Hey, Chris. Listen, I'm stuck at work for another hour or two," at this he winked at Draco, "I'll come round later."

A muffled response echoed and Cedric hummed back. Then he promptly shut his mobile shut.

"Well, that was nice and honest."

Cedirc snorted. "As I said, he's just pretty. Nothing between the ears, though."

"Ah," Draco nodded, now walking side-by-side with Cedric down the street, looking out for a hospitable café. "I see. Diggory's brainless fuck toy."

Cedric chuckled, but did not deny a word.

"So who did you stay with in St-Tropez? Your parents?"

"No, my aunt. Almost never saw her, though, but she had an army of servants who apparently remember me from when I was five. They kept insisting on telling me stories of how they used to take me to the beach as a baby or dress up as Santa for Christmas – even though," Draco huffed a laugh, "I probably believe in Santa less than African tribes who've never seen a chunk of snow in their lives. And it's even more awkward since I don't remember any of them ever doing it."

"I can imagine little-ickle Draco in those old parachute-like diapers, sitting on Santa's lap-"

He had to dodge a painful swat on his head.

"As if you've never been a kid, you prick."

Conversation with Cedric proved to be calming, if not therapeutic. His lips were perpetually curved into a smile and his eyes shone with interest as he drank in every word of Draco's story. The blond had nearly cracked recounting his conversation with Lucius (omitting the vicious slap he received from his own father with the feeble intention of safeguarding some pride to his family name) and Cedric's hand had been there to soothe his shoulders. Somehow, by the end of the story Cedric had transformed it into one big joke that Draco could laugh about without the deep-rooted anger he'd felt when he left France. The anger was still there alright, but it dimmed now that he's calmed a little. The mug of fruit-tea in front of him probably helped as well.

Draco sighed and ran his fingers along the ridge of his cup, musing.

"So that's how I ended up here."

"Come live at my flat," Cedric offered, jerking his head to the side. "It's huge and I'm rotting there on my own."

Draco smiled, his eyes still downcast. "Thanks, Cedric. I don't want to get in the way or anything. I'll find something for myself – I have some acquaintances who can lend me some money. Then I can work it off or something-"

"You're barking mad," Cedric groaned. "I'm not letting you go now – in fact, it's like destiny for us to meet right there on the street. And I'm really serious, I have plenty of room in my flat and you out of all people, won't _get_ in the way!" he shook his head for emphasis. "Come on, don't be stupid."

Draco stared at him and slowly shook his head no. "I'm not being stupid, and I'm really not as helpless as all that. Besides, I can get a loan and it won't be a problem for me to repay it later on, and I won't feel like impeding someone's holidays – especially someone with a boyfriend. No matter how brainless."

"First of all, I'm not _someone, _Draco. I'm a friend, and you'll hurt me if you don't accept my help. Partly because it feels good to help you and partly because I'd love to have you around anyway. And really – Chris? Boyfriend? He doesn't even stay over."

"Not even to cuddle?" Draco sniggered, not resisting the tempting remark.

Cedric dropped the grin and clasped Draco's shoulder with surprising strength. "Listen, we'll ask my dad about getting you some job at his office, or at some place of his friends'. I'm sure they'd never turn down a bloke like you."

"I'm not eighteen yet," Draco countered, lifting his brows.

Cedric scratched his nape for a moment. "Yeah, that might be slightly problematic."

"Cedric, really, thank you for the sentiment, but," Draco smiled at the pompousness of his own words and allowed the smile to show. "I'll be fine."

"Come on, man. Come see the apartment, at the very least."

The blond heaved a little sigh of surrender and nodded. "Yeah, alright. I'll have a look."

"And bring your suitcase," Cedric suggested innocently. "You'll find it hard to leave when you see the place-"

"Fuck, my suitcase!" Draco cursed. "It's in the lobby of Sheraton."

It took exactly a second for Cedric to catch up and then both of them were bursting with laughter.

…

That was how Cedric lured him into his flat. Draco wasn't complaining, honestly. He quite enjoyed sharing a flat with the auburn-haired. True to his word, Draco had arranged something for himself. He borrowed a small amount of money and contacted several Art Galleries for job vacancies. The manager of the gallery his exhibition was being held next week, Silda Totkim, held to her promise and called him back with good news. Apparently, their receptionist had left for a prolonged vacation and his return was a dubious matter. She did warn that working at Calford Gallery wasn't the most convenient job he could find in London, though – but that hardly scared him. He thought little of his own life had been normal lately.

Cedric, who was working at his Father's office for work experience his new University required, fully approved of his choice. In all, he was very supportive in a time of crisis for Draco. But he did have one condition, and the blond could do little but oblige since it was perhaps the only way of showing the man his gratitude. For now, anyway.

"You have to come with me to this stupid party," Cedric commanded through the cell phone, just as Draco entered the café he was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione at, quickly stepping inside to avoid the dribble of rain. He thought he could hear Cedric locking the door to his apartment and throwing off his shoes. "Part of the bargain, Malfoy, remember?"

"You didn't say it was stupid back then – that's sort of why I agreed."

"It's only stupid," Cedric began explaining patiently, "because of the place. Nobody in their sane mind would organize a party in _Clubber's_ _Colada, _it's off the human radar. I have a faint suspicion it might be some odd country club in Northern Greenland."

Draco chuckled. "Alright, chill. I'll come." He paused, and frowned. "You're not taking Chris, are you?"

"No," came an amused response, "it's rather dangerous to let a brainless creature into the wild. You should know that from your own years of rowdiness. Or don't you remember the dancing on the banquet tables anymore?"

Draco laughed, "Oh, shut up. There's no need in bringing it up. And I'm hanging up now."

"Fine, fine," Cedric grumbled. There was a low chuckle, followed by a series of short regular beeps. Draco rolled his eyes and stepped towards the table Ron had ordered and where he and Hermione sat, engrossed in today's newspaper. The girl stood up and grinned when Draco appeared in sight, sliding her arms around his shoulders for a tight hug. Ron simply shook his hand and beckoned the waiter with a snap of his fingers.

He chose to skip the storytelling; Ron and Hermione, like the true angelic couple they were, were bound to insist on helping him out somehow, Hermione's supportive package including lectures on family relations, excessive pride and God knew what else she had become obsessed with these days. He did love her, and at most times her lecturing was useful to listen to, but he decided it was twice as impractical for Draco, who had absolutely screwed up family relations and a sack of surplus pride. In addition, he did not want her romantic holidays ruined with worry.

So he entertained them with descriptions of St-Tropez and Biarritz - the latter being, as he had learned with Hermione's help and then quickly forgotten, the host city for some significant diplomatic reunion in the mid 1850's. He probably should have known it, with his course of Higher History. For him however, it now forever held the memory of his father, with his palm outstretched and threatening.

Their conversation veered gradually towards Hermione's and Ron's vacation, and their stay in a rented house in the outskirts of the city before they moved to her flat. Draco found himself reveling at the affection the two had for each other. It was there, warm and comfortable, without the constant lies and scandals and hurtful words…

Draco tried to keep the smile off his face as he watched them feed each other little spoonfuls of tart, their smiles sweeter than the chocolate that filled it.

"So, I've heard about the exhibition at Calford," Hermione said, from her position at Ron's chest. The redhead lifted his head in curiosity.

"Yeah, it's starting in a few days. I hope you're coming, too."

Hermione nodded slowly and took another thoughtful bite. "Is this something serious, or just…" she shrugged as the words trailed off.

"Well, the collection's not quite as large as they would have liked it to be, and no, it's not exactly serious in the way that classics are, I suppose. It's mostly modern-"

She laughed in a ringing voice, her hand poised above his. "No, no, I know that – I meant whether you're considering art seriously or not."

"As a career choice," Ron clarified, glancing at him over his steaming mug of tea.

Draco opened his mouth and then had to close it, because there was nothing he could say, save for a dim-witted "Oh."

Was he?

Hermione watched him struggle with words for a few moments. "It would be an interesting choice," she suggested quietly. "You already have a famous background and your family's got a pretty stable reputation in the business world. I expect it to be fairly easy to win popularity with provenance so renowned in the country."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione uncrossed her legs beneath the table, accidentally brushing her ankles against Draco's for a moment, and leaned forward. The glint he usually noticed when the girl had found something intriguing in a book of hers, appeared in her eyes – but this time fueled by a compassionate interest. "I mean that it will be little trouble getting into the ranks of well known modern artists, Draco, because your family name is already popular in the business world. It's a bonus many artists do not have, and their talents are carelessly disregarded.

"An article printed there and here, your face flashing in the tabloids once or twice – and your work will be bestselling amongst wealthy businessmen. And considering your style, it'll take little time to make you recognized amongst the others."

"And considering how well you draw…" Ron added.

Draco blinked at them with a dumbstruck expression he knew looked utterly foreign on his face. But he couldn't help his astonishment, since he'd never thought of art that way before.

_It's not all about money, _he thought with a pang of anger.

His mind, with all the glorious rationalization it had gathered in its seventeen years, seemed to disagree. And so did, apparently, Hermione who, by the standards of her wit, was the personification of reason itself.

If Hermione was right, then maybe this wasn't a bad way to slither into the ranks of the elite, but not as the diplomat Lucius righteously assumed he'd be, but as an artist. And by doing so, disentangling himself from Lucius's sphere of influence and gaining his money independently.

"I've never thought of it that way," the blond confessed after a pregnant pause.

Hermione nodded in understanding and Ron, who'd been watching him with speculative, almost calculating eyes, softened and took a relieved sip of his tea.

"Maybe you should think about it," Hermione said softly, still leaning forward. "You're good in that, Draco – in getting what you want."

"That's right, President," Ron teased, as he nudged the blond playfully in the shoulder, which, considering Weasley's bulky size, turned out to be quite painful.

"Yes," Draco nodded, to nobody in particular, even though the café now buzzed with people and the noise of scraping chairs and clinking glasses. He nodded again to convince himself. "Yes, I'll get what I want."

Hermione smiled at him from where she sat, clasped within Ron's hold. "I know."

* * *

_Ooh. _

_More?_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hey there, readers! Thanks again for your wonderful reviews – to those who bother to review. I find myself wondering at the small number of people that is, sometimes. And to that small number – thank you very much, I appreciate each comment and re-read them until they're tattered and torn on my screen. _

_This chapter was written and re-written, because the first attempt was lost in the debris of other documents and files and is now, most probably, in a virtual dustbin, somewhere. But since I've fallen sick this week, I've had time to write it all up again._

_Well…on with this chapter, then. Enjoy!_

_Chapter 9_

* * *

As a budding artist, Draco had visited plenty exhibitions in his life – ranging from abstractionism to feminist art, from modern to renaissance paintings…and so on. He clearly knew what to expect, as the Gallery's doors opened that early evening, the lights flickered on to illuminate his paintings and the wine glasses stocked up on a buffet table, awaiting the thirsty. Or the alcoholic. He even knew what face to compose when individuals came searching for him, asking him the same question of, "Are you the artist?", as if he had been some lookalike alien exported from Venus. What he didn't expect was what really happened.

Sure, he could recognize the occasional art student popping in with a curious and hungry look upon his face, and those would be the ones feasting on the buffet generally – but he could have sworn the rest of the Gallery was a swarm of businessmen and their wives and God knew who else in ridiculously expensive suits. As he watched them, half-dreading and half-wondering, he had to ask himself whether he'd made a mistake at extending invitations to his father's colleagues. He didn't know if they came to see him or his father – if their lingering was any indication – and some of them seemed to appear just for the sake of appearing at an evening with Malfoy's name behind it. They surely _looked _interested enough, asking enough questions to make his brains dribble, but whether it was genuine or not…he really couldn't answer.

"Who cares?" shrugged Hermione, as she eyed the Hall. "As long as people keep coming. Maybe somebody's taking pictures of businessmen and politicians gathering at a gallery for a nice civil chat and their wives drinking themselves to a stupor – hey, maybe you'll make the tabloids."

Draco pretended not to feel insulted by what she was saying. Hell, she was probably right and anyway, having this many people gawk at his work was far better than sulking in isolation. Only why did it have to be this bloody serious? It was like another of Lucius's charity galas.

Oh yes. They all thought it was some bloody charity gala, where you were obliged to buy a painting to seem magnanimous – as though the flash of their credit cards was a gesture of heroism. Draco wasn't very surprised to see several of his paintings acquire a small stick-on beside them, proclaiming they were sold. Totkim and the rest of the manager crew would be ecstatic, of course.

Cedric was talking up someone on the other side of the Hall – which was bigger than a bloody football field, for Christ's sake – and Draco felt he was in desperate need of friendly company. The pair of youngsters, with hoodies and shabby art-supply bags slung over their shoulders, standing beside the buffet looked appealing enough – ah, yes, except there were about five pairs of businessmen waiting to interrogate him about why his father wasn't here and, oh wait, where _was _his beautiful mother?

He couldn't believe he was hiding in the bathroom on the night of his own exhibition.

"Nice exhibition, isn't it?" a man said, adjusting his hair in the mirror. When no response came, he eyed Draco with a little bit more than dislike.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he smiled. And pretended that scrubbing his fingers was the most intriguing part of his existence. He didn't want _nice_. He wanted great.

"Say, you aren't a Malfoy yourself, boy?"

"I am," he smiled again. Uh, it hurt to smile. "Draco Malfoy, sir, enchanté."

He wondered why he was being pleasant to a man he didn't even know – someone who was definitely younger than any of Lucius's partners, since he looked barely older than thirty.

"I see," he uttered, wiping his hands slowly. "You have talent."

"Thank you."

"You do, you do," he repeated, more to himself than otherwise. He was frowning. Thinking.

Awkward.

"Are you acquainted with my parents?"

The man shook his head, "No. I didn't come here for…parents. More like scouting for art."

A first.

"What exactly is it that you do?"

"I own a restaurant about five blocks from here. We're looking for decoration." He looked apologetically at Draco, as though regretful at the cost of his Armani suit. "The prices are a little staggering, I'd say, but the work is perhaps the most suitable to my tastes."

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"Large. Overwhelming. Dramatic." He crooked a grin. "I'm summarizing your exhibition, it seems."

Well, he _did _disagree – not all of his work was large, to begin with. And the overwhelming bit really depended on the audience. Indeed, Draco sometimes drew paintings startling in their intensity and color, but he would forever lack the impact of reality that was behind photography or movies. It was overwhelming on a purely intellectual or visionary way.

"What kind of stomach would digest well in a dramatic interior?" Draco smiled in return.

"One that appreciates art, I suppose. One who has seen the immensity of my restaurant, too."

"That big, really?"

"Yes." The man moved towards the exit. "Why don't we get a drink outside? This bathroom talk is a little awkward, you'll have to admit."

They got their wine – despite Draco's previous promise of _not drinking under any circumstances_, primarily to avoid tripping over his legs by the end of the evening – and the man extended a card to him.

_Thomas Dainty _

Draco cocked his head. "I suppose if we're still talking, you're either interested or simply bored. Or wondering how to tell me you have to leave," he finished with a smile, and it was entirely returned.

"I have a proposition you absolutely _won't_ dismiss bubbling up in my head. How would you like to hear it?"

Draco quirked a brow – because he could. He could abandon courtesy if he wished too, because Lucius's shadow wasn't hanging over _this _guest, for sure.

"Why don't you come along to my restaurant sometime this week and see how you like it. I'll show you what I want to do with it, and maybe we'll be able to find some sort of agreement – what do you say? Now I hope you're the type that can't decline a challenge, Draco, and maybe I shouldn't scare you off beforehand, but it's not an easy task for a nascent artist. But don't worry, it's a threat that hasn't a meaning if you're truly as good as this exhibition shows."

This young man was a lot of talk and very, very persuasive. And yet despite this nagging thought, Draco was still intrigued.

"Good is a subjective word. I trust you know that, working in the food industry."

"What is good for me, is good for my business. I have to say, I've been through more exhibitions than my crew of stupid managers and still we haven't a piece we're completely in harmony with. And to believe I wasn't sure about coming tonight, well what a horror!"

By the end of his speech, Draco was flattered twice more and completely, without a meager doubt, persuaded to draw for him. When he strolled to the snacks-end of the buffet, he was asking himself if he was perhaps a little too quick at accepting unknown deals.

Cedric poked him in the elbow, "And what's with the…passionate bloke you've been talking up?"

Draco snorted. "Passionate?"

"He looked like he was about to ravish you on this table."

"Pretty sure he's straight, Cedric. He was offering me a deal. A pretty good one, it seems, too."

"A deal," Cedric leered suggestively. "Is that what you call it these days…"

Draco laughed "Get your head out of the gutter at last. You're insufferable!"

The auburn-haired toasted him with his wineglass and watched the Hall from above the glass rim with amused eyes.

Draco sighed. "I wonder if Lucius will die of mortification when he'll hear of this. I can almost hear it already: our dearest politicians babying the youngest Malfoy, no evil Father in sight. Return of the evil Father, who murders his son with an axe and dispatches his body to the northern coasts of Antarctica."

"Very original," Cedric muttered. "I told you, looking like you don't give a shit will give _you _a reputation. Stop sucking up to those arses who think they came to honor your father. And if you father does murder you, then at least you would have some sort of name in the artistic world."

"More like a permanent place in the tabloids."

"A teenage hero," Cedric grinned. "Yes, if you defy this shit, you'll become the new prodigal son, but with a twisted ending."

"Totkim would be mortified if I ruined the evening."

Cedric laughed, "Listen, I'm not asking you to get pissed and strip on the tables. God knows you've done enough of that in your innocent age – ow! okay, okay, stop batting me!"

Draco lowered his hand and Cedric had the decency to look sheepish for a second.

"Well, what do you suggest I do?"

"Do something – fuck knows, maybe stripping _is _a good idea after all."

Draco grinned.

Then he shooed off a waiter standing on the other side of the buffet, tipped a dustbin on the side and, stepping on its top, jumped onto the table. Several of the hands reaching for glasses snatched back in surprise. The table rocked dangerously for a few shocking moments.

Cedric stared at him with his mouth open in a huge grin, disbelieving. Draco could almost feel the gapes with his skin and it made him feel itchy with attention.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

He laughed. Even though it wasn't returned. Mostly because they were all staring, mouths open at his inadequacy and, quite possibly, scandalous insolence.

"Thank you for coming! Thank you for _buying_! Your attention is very flattering and I must say, I haven't anticipated so much of it. It feels good to be out of the shadow after all. You wouldn't _believe_ how good it feels to do it by myself this time. It feels great to know that you came just for _me_ this evening, to appreciate the beauty of art and my love for it. Again, thank you very much! I love you all!"

He bent down and grabbed a glass of scarlet wine. With it, he toasted to the crowd.

"Enjoy!"

Then he leaped down from the table and suddenly, he was amidst the people who _stared. _As if they could stare him down to his knees.

Cedric circled his arm around his shoulders from behind and pulled him to his chest. He simply dropped a kiss on his head.

"You imbecile," he whispered.

Draco broke free with a laugh. _Now _he could head to the men and women waiting for him. And if they really had something to say to him, they would stay. And if they didn't – well, he knew that those definitely had little interest in him apart from his last name.

…

Draco woke with a woolen head the next morning. He felt as though a pack of mammoths decided to stomp along his skull. He could barely remember last night's events. Well, he could remember Hermione jumping on his neck after his speech and nearly strangling him to oblivion. He had never seen her so flushed with happiness for anybody but Ron; breathlessly, she said that any illusion that Lucius was behind the evening was dissipated. Of course, some of the guests had promptly left, but with enough graciousness as to not seem too disinterested in Draco.

Honestly, the blond was just glad how last night turned out, after all.

_Yes, Father your lesson has been learnt. Any publicity is good publicity. Take that._

Ron had called a cab after the Gallery's closing at eleven thirty that night and Cedric had a table ready for them at one of his favorite clubs. After that he remembered bits and threads of last nights' events: toasting to his success, Cedric trying to pull Draco away from the bar, Hermione and Ron kissing on the dancefloor, Cedric laughing, him laughing – lots of laughing, that's for sure. As he stared in the mirror, he saw a mark saying on his shoulder blade in blue permanent ink, saying: "just married" and snorted with laughter. It was very much like a Cedric joke.

He left his toothbrush and forgetting to comb his hair, set out to murder Cedric in his sleep.

But Cedric wasn't in his room – the bed was empty, albeit undone. Now that he concentrated on the noise in the apartment – he could hear someone talking. He frowned and headed towards the kitchen.

The voice was male, that was for sure. He poked his head into the corridor just before the kitchen entrance and quickly ducked back – Cedric was walking with a pot of coffee towards a table, his companion unseen. Maybe it was someone he brought home for the night?

Draco grinned, evilly.

"It's his choice to tell you why he wanted – or needed – to live here. Whether he chooses to tell you, is entirely your own problem." It was Cedric's voice.

Draco frowned. Apart from the fact that Cedric didn't seem too romantically interested in his companion, it seemed like they were talking about _him. _He nearly fainted in the next moment.

"And why did you want – or _need – _for him to be here? Maybe you're interested?"

It was Potter.

Holy fuck.

It was _Potter._

Harry bloody Potter. What a fucking surprise.

Draco caught his breath and told himself to calm down. If his heartbeat didn't subside, he'd be nursing a bad case of a nervous breakdown. And he could barely hear their conversation now – that's how loud his heart's battering was.

He heard Cedric's laughter and the clank of a fork against a porcelain plate. "Harry, you surprise me. Of course I'm interested. Who isn't, with Draco? He's like a cake that everybody wants a piece of."

Draco resisted a snort for the sake of camouflage.

"I'm not kidding, Diggory," Potter said, quietly.

"I know." A sigh. "Listen, I'm not going to lie. Yes, I would like to be with Draco, even though…I have a boyfriend. And you can hardly blame me."

"Have you and he…?"

There was silence. Cedric was – should be, anyway – shaking his head. Draco listened, in disbelief. He didn't like this, the way they were discussing him. Like he was somebody's to own. Like a piece of cake, in fact. Like a girl they were wooing.

He heard another clink and imagined how strained their shared breakfast should be. Why were they even having a civil breakfast? Why had Potter come anyway, and how had he known where to find Cedric? Or was he here for Draco? Wasn't it a bit early?

Draco's watch told him it was past noon. Well, fuck.

"Don't underestimate Draco," Cedric continued. "I don't think he'll be overjoyed at your appearance. You aren't exactly a knight in shining armor and if you've come thinking to win him over just because – well, just because you _came_ – then you might just have to face disappointment."

"He's not seeing anyone, is he?"

"That's his bit of info to share."

"Listen…Cedric. I know he's not easy. We've both got weird personalities and, even now, I think we're a shitty match."

"Then why did you come?"

_Thanks, Cedric. Finally some answers. _

"Because the thought that I might be too late messes with my head."

"Hm," Cedric prolonged the sound. There was a pause.

"I think you may be messing with his head too, Harry, to be honest."

_Oh, shit. Great._

It was as though Cedric heard his plea – he scraped his chair against the floor and stood up. "Maybe you should come back later. Looks like Draco's sleeping in today."

"Yeah. I will. Thanks-"

"It's okay. You're welcome."

They were coming out of the kitchen now and Draco panicked, stunned into stillness. Then, as Cedric and Harry's shadows moved along the opposite wall, Draco took a breath and stepped forward to meet them. He purposely rubbed his arms into warmth – noticing belatedly that he was only wearing his pajama pants and absolutely no top – to seem as though he had just woken up. He yawned theatrically too and pretended shock as he saw Harry.

He didn't really need to pretend, after all. Harry was stunning, he really was – he was tanned, and so good-looking that it hurt to watch; and he was wearing his glasses again, as if he _knew_ they knocked Draco out. He had a Harry-in-stylish-glasses kink. Bloody wonderful. Why couldn't Potter stop tormenting him indie-out already?

"Hey," Harry breathed, eyes glued to face – before, of course, they dropped to stare at his naked chest.

"Sleeping beauty is up!" Cedric chuckled. His smile was barely returned. He took one look at the pair, snorted and didn't even say anything as he strolled back into the kitchen and shut the door.

"You look good," Harry remarked, in that breathy voice that was doing strange things to Draco's libido.

"Thank you."

_My face is up here, _he wanted to point out, even though, secretly, he delighted in the way Harry's eyes glued to his body with obvious admiration.

"Why are you here?"

Oh God, Harry actually reddened. This was interesting. "Just came to see you. Congratulations for your exhibition. It's really…great work."

Draco blinked. "You were there last night?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't see you."

"I know. You had a lot of people there."

"That's an underestimation."

Harry laughed, nervously.

"Draco," he said, after they've stared at each other for another while. "Would you like to go out with me tonight?"

Draco's heart melted. "Come to ask the star out now that I'm popular?"

Harry's slow grin was charming. "Of course. Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

Draco considered him for a moment, with critical eyes, until two brows were raised at him in question. "You've been such an arsehole, Potter. Still are, as far as I'm aware. Give me one good reason why I should go out with you."

Obviously taken aback, Harry took his time to answer. There was his famous mirthful spark in his eyes now. "I cook well," he finally said.

Draco blinked at him.

"I could take care of you. I'm interested, very much so."

Draco stood strong, despite his softening heart. "Why now?"

"You seduced me last night."

Draco opened his mouth in indignation. "So you've come for a one-night stand after my success. Well, you can go fuck yourself."

"You're still a wonderful conversationalist, I see," Harry actually _laughed._ "No, not a one-night stand. I don't know for how long. I don't know if at all – that…depends on you. It depends on tonight. If you're willing to come."

For once, Draco didn't have an answer.

"I have plans tonight," he stammered. He hoped he wasn't too bad at lying, yet.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow…" He swallowed at Harry's hopeful expression. "I…I'll call you."

_No. He'll ruin you. _

"Don't forget," Harry answered and because of his mind-boggling, slow smile Draco couldn't even understand what he was referring to. Only when Harry turned and headed for the exit like he owned the damned place, did he seem to get that Harry was talking about the call.

_It's a yes. It's always been a yes. Who in the hell cares anymore. _

…

Draco decided to give Cedric a rest after what he'd said that morning. He decided he won't even ask if his feelings were really of the yearning texture – mostly because he didn't quite know what to feel himself when it came to Cedric. He was good-looking, and so incredibly funny that the blond sometimes feared for his ribs when laughing. But most of all, he genuinely cared for Draco. He felt it – even without the silly declarations. And the offer was omnipresent, lingering like the scent of a faint perfume – sometimes he would volunteer to massage Draco's shoulders and his hands would linger a little longer than necessary; and Draco would be left to laugh it off. And then the moment would pass and Cedric was just a friend again.

Sometimes Draco reveled in the quick way they've become friends. It was the same with Harry. Only this time, with Cedric, he definitely wasn't fucking anything up.

He'd also given Thomas a try: the next afternoon he checked out the restaurant. It was still under reconstruction, most of it, but the halls Draco did see left him with a good first impression. It wasn't all marble and ancient. Nor was it the usual light, Italian pizzeria. Rather, it was large and in need of deepness and the overwhelming décor Thomas mentioned at the exhibition, and a contrast of light and silky texture at the sides, as to avoid engulfing the ordinary visitor at once. If he understood correctly, Thomas opened this place with very ambitious aims, considering his slightly peculiar character - and indeed, it looked good even on the designers' blueprints, so there was little doubt of its future success.

Of course, Draco was convinced. He sat with the designers and Thomas himself, drawing everything up for four hours before he finally got the exact picture of everything. He knew he only had a month before he would have to leave for Hogwarts and no art workshop to use for this job. But the designers were just as persuasive as their chef and assured they'd provide him with the necessary.

Apart from those minor reservations, he was overjoyed. He could barely believe his luck. Everything seemed to be working out for him this summer – if he ignored his major brawl with his father. But then again, as they say: everything's for the best. After all, had he not left Biarritz in such a hurry, he would still be wallowing in France and his name wouldn't appear in the paper the morning after the exhibition, along with pictures of several businessmen and even one or two politicians. If payback wasn't such a pleasant activity, Draco might have even offered his father a call or a visit – but as he saw it, he was doing well on his own two feet. For once, without his father.

Otherwise, he refrained from calling Harry. He didn't know if he was being silly or whether a good chase would finally reassure him of Harry's interest, he couldn't quite decide. He was supposed to call two nights ago and if Cedric wasn't lying when he announced it, laughing – Harry had contacted Ron to ensure that Draco was indeed alive and well. When his doubts of his sudden death weren't satisfied, he left, puzzled. As if there was absolutely no other reason in the world for making him wait, other than something lethal.

_Well, good_, Draco thought. _It's his turn to run after me. _

Hermione told him he was being a girl, but at least a seductive one at that. But then she also said she'd seen Harry looking very perturbed about something the other day. He wasn't too surprised to learn that Harry took a job at Starbucks over the last few weeks, after all he probably needed the rent. Apparently after his eighteenth birthday in the end of July – which Draco didn't quite know what to do with, since he hadn't gotten a present – he had rented a small flat just out of the center and settled in, away from his family. No wonder.

Five days after Harry's impromptu visit, Draco decided he was done with the teasing – he was too curious himself now. So he decided he'd get a drink at Starbucks after passing by Thomas's to discuss the issue of payment – which incidentally turned out quite the sensitive topic. Draco accepted with little bargaining, though – after all, he didn't _really _care about the money when such opportunities came knocking so early in his career.

He hoped that it was indeed Harry's shift, as he popped in, several bags with schoolwork and art supplies flung over his shoulder. He tried to look busy – after all, work would be his principal alibi. But he found it hard not to stare once he noticed Harry at the counter – weathering some pretty girl's flagrant flirting. He had to try to forget that Harry wasn't even gay and that he knew, were a more tempting _female _offer appear, Draco would probably be shifted to second roles in the black-haired boy's love life. Under the tide of his own sudden and rather depressive thoughts, Draco even exercised the idea of leaving. The notion of Harry deserting him – hell, just _being _with someone else and screwing someone else, was something he hadn't even thought of before and it hit him full force right then. He was achingly jealous. It made him regret the five days he'd waited before approaching Harry. Had he reconsidered, perhaps, his interest in the blond? He did, he must have. Perhaps it'd be better if Draco just left.

But then leaving, too, would be very cowardly.

So he endured watching as the girl pouted and tried getting Harry's number written on her take-away cup – while he told himself not to scowl.

_What a bitch. Excuse my fucking French._

Harry smiled at her and – oh, that _arsehole! _– wrote down the number neatly on the cup. She promptly giggled, along with two of her all too pretty friends.

And as another pair of girls moved to the counter, he saw Harry saying something to the other boy behind him and then barking a laugh. It seemed as though Harry was gloating. The other boy just looked very satisfied with himself.

_What gits. I should just leave. _

But then it was too late, it was his turn and for a second, he panicked – he hadn't even picked anything to order! How he dreaded that split second before Harry turned and-

"Draco!"

The blond smiled. Well, perhaps Harry _was_ an arsehole and perhaps he didn't deserve Draco – that's what his faithful head told him, not his aching chest – but Draco knew he looked good and screw everything else. He could see Harry responding like a bird lured with a handful of seed, as he took in Draco's half-transparent silky black shirt hugging his torso and light white jeans and the neat set of bags over his shoulder. He probably looked gay. Well, nothing new there.

"Coffee?" Harry recovered, albeit not at all smoothly - he sounded as though someone just tried to choke a lemon down his throat. He cleared his throat rapidly.

Draco bared his teeth elegantly in another smile and scanned the menu sheets above Harry's head, letting the boy get another eyeful before he was caught staring.

"Yeah, a caramel frapuccino. And get me your number on the cup," he smirked.

Harry's reaction was slowed down – probably by his hard-on – but he laughed anyway. "That's not my domain, to be honest. David back there gets all the calls," he explained, gesturing towards the boy who was busy pouring foamy cream into a drink. He glanced at Draco curiously, over his shoulder.

"Oh, so the Casanova here isn't interested," Draco concluded slowly, with another growing smirk. "I suppose David will be getting another call then."

David looked half horrified, half amused and it was obvious he would be cornering Harry for an explanation later on. But for now, this was too fun: Harry was grinning as he leant closer to the blond across the counter, his eyes glimmering with pure, green mirth. Suddenly, Draco's conviction that he was the tantalizing butterfly seducing the man before him – reversed – and he was pinned beneath that intense gaze, under a net of emotions he couldn't even distinguish.

"Someone owes me a call first," Harry said, in a silky voice. He was leaning fully against the counter now, along with his crotch, and Draco wanted to be the one he leant on instead. The desire was so sudden and so sweet, that he had to take a few breaths before replying, in fear of revealing himself.

"I don't owe you a thing, Potter," Draco challenged, leaning forwards as well. Harry looked surprised, and then even hungrier, eyes darting between his. "I was busy, is all."

Harry's grin extended, like honey from a spoon. "Should I be getting worried, Malfoy?"

"Maybe."

"Will we be gettin' our soddin' coffee any time soon?" muttered a man behind Draco.

"Sorry," Harry offered distractedly, not even breaking his stare. "So, what was it, Malfoy, a camarel frapuccino and my number on a cup?"

Draco offered him a dazzling smile and dropped a few pounds into Harry's palm – trying in vain to cover the shiver that ran up his spine at the touch of their skin. Harry licked his lips.

"I would've given you one on the house, but I'm not exactly the owner around here," he said, without looking apologetic at all. His skillful fingers counted the money and gave back the change just as rapidly.

_Ah yes, that's where his mathematical brains kick in._

Then he took an empty cup and wrote a number on it – and Draco damn well hoped it was a different one than Harry had given the girl from before.

He didn't even need the number – he already had it. But the symbolic gesture was…sweet. He wouldn't have ever pictured Harry capable of flirting with him, a _guy_, in an open café, with people gawking at them.

The moment he started walking towards the exit, he could feel Harry's eyes glued to his back and arse, and he gladly basked in this feeling for the rest of the afternoon.

…

Draco waited another day before calling Harry and he nearly drove himself to insanity, just _waiting. _Cedric said he looked like a damsel in distress and that if he didn't get laid anytime soon, he'd lose it. Draco fully agreed with him, for that matter. And Gosh, did he _want _to get laid, and kissed and sucked-

-and all the beautiful things he'd imagined Harry doing to him between the bed-sheets.

He had to complete a breathing exercise before dialing to calm his cock, because it wouldn't rid him of distracting images.

"Hey, Harry," he drawled as the other picked up. There was a pause.

"Draco?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said and winced. He should've said something witty, like: "why, your observation skills astound me!" and made a grant impression, except his fingers were shaking and so was his voice and he was at a catastrophic loss for words.

There was a laugh. "I was thinking of giving up hope here," Harry confessed. "Hold on a sec, Draco, I'll be back – actually can I call you in two minutes? There are a couple of people at the counter-"

"Yeah, whatever," he answered, making sure to keep his voice cold. He hung up and waited, with more anxiety than he would've liked to admit.

The ring of his telephone sounded shrill against the silence of his bedroom and he picked up, with another cold "hey".

"Sorry," Harry said – typically not sounding sorry at all. Draco heard shouting in the background and Harry's amused reply of "shut the fuck up, David and do your job!" and he had to wonder whether Harry was now earning teasing remarks on his newly revealed orientation. Or how they say: the fact that he swung both ways.

"There, now will you go out with me tonight?"

Draco started at the sudden offensive – and he was silently glad he didn't have to trudge through asking Harry out himself, because he still thought Harry needed to do the asking and the doubting and the chasing.

"You know, I think I'll give you a try," he answered instead.

"That's great-"

_-about time-_

"How about nine this evening? We can just hang out. Do you have any plans?"

Not one damn plan, since he and Cedric were only planning to be loners with beer tonight. But Cedric will have to find Chris, his boyfriend, and get laid, it seemed.

"Perhaps I can clear the evening for you."

"Sounds good - how about nine, then, and I'll pick you up?"

Draco laughed in agreement, "Driving a chic cabriolet?"

There was a short silence. "No, actually. Um, by foot."

_Did I hit a nerve? Or does he _seriously _think I'm so much of a snob to care about a goddamn car?_

Draco chuckled, "I know, Harry, I'm not some silly stuck-up girl. And nine will do."

And at nine he came.

As Harry greeted him, looking delicious in a pair of jeans and a charcoal button up, Draco suddenly remembered that he knew nothing of their date. Button-up or not, Harry didn't exactly look formal and so the blond was relieved he'd also picked something casual for their rendezvous. He wondered where they were going. And what Harry really meant by _hanging out._

_Maybe taking me to his flat and fucking the daylights out of me? I don't think I'd mind much at this point._

Harry kept the elevator door open with his foot as Draco locked the door of the apartment. "You look good," he said.

"So you've said last week."

"You look even better tonight."

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a grin. "So where are you taking me, Potter? This isn't some obscure plot to murder the son of a wealthy businessman, is it?"

"I hardly look like a criminal – at least I've been hoping I don't look like one."

"Could've fooled me," muttered the blond and had to avoid a swat. "Alright, and now seriously, where are we going?"

"It's just a place – though nothing special," Harry explained, waving a hand around. He didn't seem the least bit shy now. "I thought it'd be nice if we had some private space."

Alright, so maybe Draco _did _fear Harry still being very touchy about the nature of their unnatural relationship – unnatural in its orientation, of course – and even though the incident at the café did soothe his worry, it didn't completely destroy the memory of Harry's previous rejection.

"Because you wouldn't like people to know that you like a guy?" Draco asked, as innocently as he could. He hated how accusatory that sounded – after all, he was supposed to be chilled about that sort of thing.

"No," he replied. He urged Draco to walk alongside with him on the pavement, with a hand poised on his lower back. Then he suddenly stopped, bringing the blond to a halt too. "No," he repeated, sounding serious. "That's not it at all."

Draco shrugged and continued walking, deciding to ignore the fact that Harry's hand left his back in order to shove into one of his pockets.

"Forgive me for being curious. You seemed really bothered about that sort of thing back at school."

"But that's the thing," Harry exclaimed and pulled at his arm again, stopping him. "Back at school. But in this world, it's all bullshit."

"What's bullshit?" Draco snapped.

"The homophobia, it's all bullshit here. Nobody cares."

"Well, bravo!" the blond resisted a theatrical clap of his palms. "And it took you how long to get it?"

"Longer than it should have, probably."

Draco looked at him, at his direct and definitely guiltless gaze, and sighed. Of course Potter probably thought himself a hero for overcoming his status quo views and finally understanding that homosexuality was _fine_ as long as it hurt no one. Draco certainly wasn't about to congratulate him, although it really _was _about bloody time for that epiphany.

"So now you're fine with holding hands in public? With fucking a man and looking at yourself in the mirror without the urge to claw your skin off in shame?"

_Let him know that I won't stand any disgust anymore. Not this time. _

Harry actually looked thoughtful for a minute. "I don't know. So violently put. But yes."

"And what made you think so?"

Harry averted his gaze and looked onto the street – along the narrow parking lots and onto the park in front of the building for a while, before his eyes settled on Draco's. "Listen, I was a shit back at school and I know it. I realized too late."

_Just say sorry, you poor sod. I'll forgive you._

But he didn't. He just stood there, as though waiting for Draco to read his mind and forgive him by some miracle.

"So now you want me to forget and forgive."

Harry smiled, for some reason. "I don't know. I don't know if you can do that and… I don't think I can ask you to. I don't even know if it's fair asking you out after what I've done, but I'm only human to hope."

Coupled with Harry's determined expression, the words melted Draco's façade almost to its ruins.

"It depends whether you'll be able to give me a new you to remember. To make me forget."

"I'll try."

Draco allowed himself a small, slow smile.

"Come on then," Harry tugged on his hand this time. "We'll hail a cab and get there faster."

Harry took him to the highest floor of a building and before opening the only door of the corridor, asked him to tightly shut his eyes. When he was gone Draco felt stupid standing in the middle of nowhere with his eyes closed and thinking of a possible vindictive plot to hurl him off the building roof.

But then Harry was back, and asking him to keep his eyes closed, led him towards the door with a hand on his lower back. When he was allowed to look, Draco actually stumbled in shock.

It was indeed a rooftop, small and shabby looking, but with a view on the roads and parks and buildings surrounding it – it seemed as though this was one of the tallest in sight. But the most beautiful thing was the candles on the edges, their tips lighted and quivering in the evening breeze, but standing solid against the chill. There were carpets and blankets strewn across the stone floor and various drinks and snacks and – if his eyes weren't lying – bowls of dessert on a low table nearby. It looked as if Harry had tried to stuff the entire world into the one corner of the rooftop, surrounded by a set of safety candles – like a fortress, and cocooned in their warmth. It was perfect.

By now, of course, Harry was a little agitated with the lack of response. So Draco turned around and smiled, hoping to convey what words couldn't.

He couldn't even remember the small talk that kept them occupied for the first half hour. He must have eaten something sweet because the taste of syrup and cream lingered on his tongue, and he was sitting with his back propped up against the wall, facing Harry, who sat cross-legged and watchful.

Somehow Draco ended up telling him a story about growing up at the Manor, something about Lucius teaching him to shoot at ravens in their gardens. It was then that Harry's expression turned wistful.

"I don't have many good memories of my childhood," he confessed, arms coming to rest on his knees, and knuckles whitening. "I can mostly remember starting school and even, if I'm not mistaken, driving my first bike. But then the rest is eclipsed by my parents' deaths and all the mess that came with it."

He sat, nursing his thoughts silently for a moment and Draco thought he'd change the topic when he spoke up next. But to his surprise, he didn't and his voice remained wistful as he went on,

"I was blamed and I was a stupid kid at the time. I couldn't even say anything in my defense because I was so shock-driven. And the neighbors couldn't tell much either – they hated our family." He looked straight at Draco and smiled. "My parents were both doctors and worked for the criminology sector – you know, defining death causes and such. Our neighbors always said they spoke more with the dead than with the living – and partly it was true: my dad gave up talking altogether by the time I turned six. Probably because of the horrors he had seen. My mom…she gave up work instead. Tried to bake something out of me," he chuckled, urging a polite smile out of Draco in response. "You get a lot of threats doing this job. It's ungrateful business. On one side, you've got the police – that's if you aren't a separate agent altogether. On the other – you've got the gangs of criminals doing hell knows what and then deciding it's easier murdering another handful of people than being thrown behind jail bars."

"Like a movie," Draco muttered.

"Yeah, like a goddamn horror movie. And then one day they were just dead – like a magic trick. All the mess and accusations - everything had gone pear shaped in one day for me. And I had nobody to turn to – who needed a kid whose parents had been so wound up in crime business that their lives ended up depending on it? It didn't even matter that they never committed one themselves. Just the fact. Some ungrateful business, it is." He bit his lips and blinked for several moments. "Then I was shipped off to my relatives, because the court saw a full family package more fit to raise a mourning, supposedly depressed adolescent than an already loving but single godfather. A fucked up family, the Dursleys, even worse than anything I've seen before. And still are, to be honest – I've tried to run away twice during that time and each time the police was on my back."

"Eloping, or just getting away?"

Harry's strained laugh sounded almost regretful, and lacking any humor. "No, just running really. Not eloping – not for a second, I don't think I even knew what sex _was _before I arrived at Hogwarts."

"Hm," Draco smiled. He was careful. And mesmerized.

"So that's my fucked up past. I…I've sort of been deprived of normality since birth. And you can see how I'm…adapting. To every wicked turn life hurls at me."

Draco blinked absentmindedly, his mind still stuck on the story and the intensity with which Harry recounted it. And now, even past the usual confidence, there was a gleam of uncertainty in his green eyes. A vulnerability Draco _dreamt_ off, dreamt of seeing, dreamt of being exposed to, because it would show that Harry was human after all. And while his past explained a lot of things – or it must have if he sat down and thought about it more thoroughly – he couldn't believe Harry had been with this heavy load weighing down his shoulders for so long. He hadn't even said a word to anyone in the four years he spent at Hogwarts.

The blond found himself standing up and dropping unceremoniously into Harry's lap, with his legs on either side of his torso and face inches higher than the raven mane. This love-deprived, strange and mourning child, in contrast to the coldhearted adult he'd grown to become was so alluring to both the maternal instinct somewhere very deep within him and his sexual appetite. For some reason the shift in history, the childhood tragedy and Harry's power to overcome it, albeit somberly, was appealing to the power-hungry beast within him that craved to straddle this creature, to soothe it and to take control of its poisons before they could be aimed in his direction, to care and satisfy it, to pleasure, to please. To be what the rest of the world couldn't be for Harry, because they haven't seen him like this: breaking and mourning. They haven't gotten past his defense. And now that _Draco _had, he certainly wasn't going to let Harry withdraw ever again.

He didn't even know if he was talking about love; but it certainly felt like it.

"I know this will sound cheesy, but…" Draco murmured against Harry's face, their noses touching. He traced his hands along his jaw, his neck, his ears, his cheeks and into his hair, slowly, firmly. "You're not alone, Harry. I want to be with you. I want to soothe you when you remember and make you forget if you wish to."

"Yes. I want you," Harry whispered, eyes flickering between grey eyes and full lips. "I don't know if I deserve you-"

"Shut up," chuckled Draco, feeling Harry's breath mingling with his.

"No, I don't. But I'm happy I wasn't too late," he whispered again. He wasn't smiling. "If you let me-"

"Yes," Draco answered, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. Between the strange emotions that filled him, the desire to be Harry's and Harry to be his – only his – he was truly lost. He had never wanted to belong to someone so intense, so _powerful, _so heart-wrenchinglybeautifulbefore – it felt like stepping off a cliff into a shady gulf. But then Harry's hands came to rest on his waist and caressed his hips and Draco felt his body burn with need.

Harry lifted his hips to readjust his position and, as their erections brushed, Draco hissed out his breath. He tangled his hand in Harry's tresses and, mindlessly, pulled and caressed, trying in vain to keep his desire at bay.

"So what next," Draco whispered against Harry's lips and was surprised when he felt lips on his own, pressing, licking. Breathlessly, he opened his mouth and felt the wetness of Harry's tongue against the soft flesh of the inside of his lips, moving slowly, tantalizingly. Draco waited with bated breath, eager, excited, for the final move and the final kiss, but it didn't come. Harry abandoned his lips and murmured,

"I don't know. Whatever you want. What do you want?"

Draco touched Harry's lips – they were wet and hot from his own kisses. "This."

"Good," breathed Harry and began licking his mouth again. Their tongues met and slid against each other and Draco sucked in full, swollen lips into his mouth, hearing Harry moan. This was sex, liquefied into kisses, burning with small touches and breathy whispers and Draco feared he would come in his trousers before Harry could even get down to stroking his cock.

He anticipated what was to come – perhaps not tonight, and maybe much, much later – but he permitted himself to fantasize over what was eventually going to happen. He imagined Harry taking him, legs thrown wide open, taking him to the full, all his length, with his manhood pushing deep within his body and Harry towering above him, sweaty, whispering, pleasuring, licking, until the blond cried and trashed and came. He wanted to be wrapped in those muscled arms and pulled close and made love to and fucked until his mind went blank.

"Would you accept me courting you," Harry whispered and had his lips not been occupied in the next moment, Draco would've probably laughed at the formality of his wording.

"Maybe," he challenged, shifting so that Harry's head was titled back and Draco was looking down at him. Now it looked as if Harry was begging and the blond was in control. He ground his hips to emphasize the point and earned a low hiss in response.

"But no one else. Just me."

"I can't promise you that," Draco said, even though in truth he was able to swear thousands of times. But Harry didn't need to know that.

Harry tightened his hands around his waist possessively. "Eventually. You'll have to."

"Can you?"

"I can now."

"Don't lie to me," Draco said, upset. He sat back and stared at Harry through a fading veil of lust.

Harry scrambled to get a hold on him again and shook his head, "I'm not. I've been thinking about it. I want this to be just you and I."

"I don't believe you."

"Let me prove to you," Harry said, seriously. He took Draco's hand in his. "I don't want anybody else."

"Liar," Draco whispered and tried to wrench his hand away. He didn't even know why he was reacting that way – but memories of Chang and school and his coldhearted remarks after they've had simultaneous orgasms in the hallway – he couldn't get away from the onslaught of those memories. Suddenly he suspected Harry might be playing him again. It upset him.

Harry grasped his wrist and kept him from moving, using the force of his body. It made Draco both annoyed, because he was overpowered, but at the same time seduced by his strength all over again.

"You don't have to believe me. I know I'm asking too much, too early. But I'll make it worth your while if you try to believe me."

"I'm not that easy," Draco snapped, ashamed that he had indeed just demonstrated the opposite, by nearly coming in his pants from Harry's kisses. "You'll have to try harder if you want me to believe."

"I'll try."

Draco watched him watching him, barely blinking, barely breathing. He wanted Harry to kiss him again, but he didn't want to let him think everything was alright between them just because he'd shown a feeble initiative. So he gently pried his hand away and dropped on his arse, against the stack of duvets.

"It's late," Draco muttered. "I'll go home."

"I'll take you home," Harry volunteered, his gaze promising lots of kissing and licking on the way, perhaps in the cab.

"No," Draco winced internally. His mind battled his body. "It's okay, I'll take a taxi. Thanks for tonight."

Harry looked at a loss for words, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Can I expect a call from you anytime soon?"

"Maybe," Draco murmured, standing up. "I'll see how busy my schedule is."

Harry had the decency to look offended for a moment. But he nodded his head, resigned.

_He'll just have to get used to it, _Draco decided, as he was escorted back to the stairs, an innocent, gentle and warm hand guiding him by his lower back again._ Because I'm the prize he wants and one he won't obtain without a bit of effort._

_And he can shove all his lies up his arse if he thinks these will get him into my pants. __Because this time we're playing by my rules._


End file.
